


Home

by Kurenaito



Series: Spark to Flame [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adoption, After Yuuri's Retirement, And he's being a brat about it, But they try, College Life, Domestic Fluff, Family, Foster Care, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Suicide (of an OC), M/M, Married Life, Mild canon divergence, Multicultural family, Post-Series, Social Media, Started before Ep. 12, They aren't perfect parents, VictUuri, Viktor and Yuuri are Married, Viktor coaches Yurio, Viktor is a stage dad, Yurio in college, Yurio is in a slump, Yurio lives with them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 46,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8777557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurenaito/pseuds/Kurenaito
Summary: Three years after the series, Yuuri has retired, and he and Viktor live in America. Yurio comes with them, to be coached by Viktor, but when Yurio suggests that Viktor find other students, things don't go entirely according to plan. It's no secret that Viktor likes to make impulsive decisions.





	1. Sonia

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】家](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9488819) by [shikicross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shikicross/pseuds/shikicross)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself I wasn’t going to start a new fic, but here we are. This was meant to be a one shot, but rather than make a really long one shot, I am posting it in short increments so it can get out of my head and I can actually go live my life. Enjoy.

It had actually been Yurio’s idea to expand Viktor’s role as a coach and find more students. Like most of Yurio’s ideas, it had been suggested in an off-hand, angry sort of way, like it really didn’t matter to him whether or not Viktor had more people to coach, but if he was calling himself a coach, shouldn’t he be doing more than just coaching one person?

All things considered, Viktor and Yuuri had been very happy to take Yurio’s suggestion to heart, and so Viktor had packed up and flown from their studio-slash-home base in Oregon to San Francisco, on his first stop to observe a new crop of young skaters and look out for any burgeoning talent. The managers of the rink he visited were very happy to receive him, particularly after he explained why he was there, and had been more than willing to show off their most promising youngsters to him.

And they had been good, no question about that. All very earnest, very talented young skaters. But while Viktor had a reputation for being flighty, he was also very picky. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but whatever it was that had drawn him to Yuuri (as a skater, at least), he hadn’t found it yet. He made some comforting platitudes about having a lot of places to visit and a lot of people to consider, and if he could just have their information, he would call them when he could. That settled, he shook hands with the rink managers and turned to leave, and that was when he stopped, looking out over the rink.

The young teenagers had been swept off the ice following their exhibition, and the rink had been opened up to what looked like a children’s class. A group of young children skated out over the ice, their movements uncertain. They clung to each other in a pack, huddling close as they followed their teacher.

Except for one girl. She skated alone.

The girl was skating around the edge of the rink, her back towards the other children as she completed a full circuit. Occasionally, she twirled and spun, but it wasn’t with the sort of carefree abandon that Viktor had seen in other children. Her expression was uncommonly solemn, her hands held out to either side of her. The clothes she was wearing showed some wear, a gray coat that seemed a size too big for her, a shirt that hung oddly on her body. Her skates were skates that had been borrowed from the rink. She was being watched by a solemn young woman in business-attire, one that bore no resemblance to the girl at all.

“—Mr. Nikiforov?”

Viktor started, realizing suddenly that he was being spoken to. He looked over his shoulder to see the rink manager hovering somewhere behind him, very eager to show him the door and maybe get one last word in about their students. Viktor waved him off and all but jogged down the steps to speak to the woman.

“Excuse me,” he said, in his accented English. The woman looked up, taking in his suit, his silver hair and blue eyes. She didn’t seem to recognize him at all. Not a skating fan, Viktor supposed. He inclined his head towards the girl skating along the edge of the rink. “Do you know that child?”

The woman blinked in surprise. “Uh—yes,” she said. “Yes, of course. I’m her caseworker.”

Caseworker. He was starting to see the shape of things.

“She likes to skate,” he said, as if he was making a casual observation.

“She picked it up from her foster siblings,” the woman said. “She really seems to enjoy it.” Something about this seemed to make her sad, and she lowered her eyes to the floor. Viktor frowned at her.

“She isn’t going to skate anymore?” he asked.

“Well, it will depend, I suppose,” the woman said.

“Depend on what?”

“On where her next family lives.”

Hm. Well _that_ was an interesting thought.

“She isn’t staying with the family she’s with now?”

The woman pursed her lips, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should be speaking about this at all. Viktor gave her his most charming smile, and that seemed to set her at ease. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking out at the ice. “The thing is…” she said. “Sonia’s foster family…well, they were going to adopt her. But they fell on some hard times recently, and—they can’t afford it anymore. She’s going back at the end of the month.”

Back. Back into the system, he supposed, to be stifled and ignored. To fall through the cracks, never to be seen again.

Viktor looked up at the girl as she skated past and smiled. He had an _idea._

“Do you know who I am, miss?” he asked, almost to himself.

“No,” the caseworker said, frowning at him in confusion. “Should I?”

Viktor waved her off and went to find himself a pair of skates.

* * *

 

A moment later, he was gliding across the ice, heading towards the girl. She continued to skate, heedless of his presence, and didn’t notice him until he was almost beside her. When she did, her eyes widened and she slipped, sliding across the ice. He was there in an instant, a hand outstretched as he crouched down with concern, but she didn’t whimper or cry, instead pushing herself back up so that she was sitting.

She took his hand, but other than a quick glance in his direction, she didn’t look him in the eye. Her face was slightly flushed, although it was hard to see under the natural tan of her skin.

He had a feeling that she recognized him.

“That was a nasty fall,” he said, drawing her up to her feet. “Are you alright?”

She nodded her head yes but didn’t speak, eyes still on the ice. Now that she was closer, she was much younger than Viktor realized, maybe six or seven. Too young to be so closed off.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked, still holding her hand.

She looked at him shyly from beneath a curtain of long brown hair, then looked away again. He’d almost given her up for mute when she answered, her voice so soft he had to strain to hear it.

“You’re Viktor Nikiforov,” she said. “You won the Grand Prix Final five times.”

“I did,” Viktor said, smiling as he crouched down to her level. “I am. I hear you like to skate, Sonechka.”

* * *

 

“You want us to _what?!”_

The shout tore through the once quiet air of the skating rink, breaking Yuri Plisetsky’s concentration. He over-rotated and came down hard, mentally cursing Yuuri and Viktor as he swung around to face the katsudon. Said pork cutlet bowl had his back half-turned to Yuri, and was holding his phone to his ear with an increasingly panicked expression. Yuri snorted. No points for guessing who he was talking to.

“Oi, piggy!” Yuri shouted. “Are you helping me practice or not?!”

Yuuri ignored him, clutching the phone tighter to himself as he turned away. “Viktor!” Yuri heard him say. “You were supposed to be looking for a _student_.”

Yuri scowled, angry at being ignored. He opened his mouth to say something cutting, but was cut off by the other man’s exclamation.

“Viktor, this is serious! This isn’t something you do on impulse!”

Yuri frowned, curious in spite of himself. He skated closer to the edge of the rink, leaning his arms against the railing.

“What did Viktor do now?”  

The question went unnoticed. Yuuri was babbling the way he always did when he was nervous, clutching the phone close to his mouth with both hands. “I mean, do we even have any room? You’re using that bedroom for storage—and she’ll need food, and toys, and somewhere to sleep, and—.”

Yuri tilted his head to the side, confused. An image came into his head of Viktor coming home with some stray puppy he had picked off the streets of San Francisco or something. Which, alright, fair enough—between Makkachin and Yuri’s cat, their house was getting a little crowded with pets. But then Yuuri started going on about things like education, clothes, the school system and a social life, and now Yuri was really confused.

“—No, I’m not saying I don’t _want_ to, but you need to think about these things. When is the home visit— _a week_? Viktor, that room is a mess!”

Yuri opened his mouth, about to demand that he be enlightened once and for all, when Yuuri cleared all the confusion, shouting into the phone.

“I’m just saying that you should maybe ask me _before_ you decide to adopt a child!”


	2. Yuuri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, remember how I said this was going to be a one-shot. Yeah, no. Episode 10 killed me. 
> 
> FYI, before this story gets to the point where that might be relevant, I’m not going to be one of those people that pairs all the skaters up with each other (not that there’s anything wrong with that, but you won’t find that here). Canonically straight people are still straight (looking at you, JJ and Georgi and probably Sara and Mila too). Up till last episode I would have included Yurio in that, but now I’m not so sure *shifty eyes* (although I would be cool with just friendship, because look at Yurio. He needs friends)

Despite all of Yuuri’s protests, he was the one who spearheaded the effort to get the room cleared out in time for the home visit, dragging Viktor and a loudly-protesting Yurio to help with the process. He still couldn’t believe this was happening, but apparently it was, and if this was going to happen, then it was going to happen _properly_.

By the time the day of the visit came around, the house was spotless, and Yuuri stood in the kitchen as they waited the last few minutes until the caseworker’s arrival, his hands shaking with nervous energy as he set out a tray of tea. The tea had been a bit of an afterthought. He didn’t know what to do with himself, and he couldn’t just sit around _waiting_ , but as he looked at the tea set (a wedding gift from his parents), he couldn’t help but wonder if he was becoming his mother.

“Yuuri!” Viktor called from somewhere in the vicinity of the living room. “Is the house ready?”

Yuuri wiped his hands on his pants in an effort to calm his nervousness, looking up. “I think so,” he called back. “Why?”

“Well, there’s some shady character lying on our couch!” Viktor called back.

“What?!”

Yuuri’s eyes widened, and he jogged in the direction of the living room, only to be greeted by Yurio lying on the couch. The Russian teenager glared at the two of them, a gaming system in his hands. Yuuri looked from Yurio to Viktor, who was standing beside the couch with an expression of mock innocence on his face, both hands up.

“Viktor!” he said. “Don’t scare me like that!”

Viktor only grinned in response, walking off to stand by the front door. He had been doing that for the past hour or so, walking up to the front door every ten minutes and looking out through the blinds. Honestly, Yuuri thought, he was as bad as Makkachin.

Yuuri sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose just above his glasses, looking over at Yurio. “I thought you went to get dressed,” he said.

“I did get dressed,” was the sullen reply as Yurio went back to his game.

“You’re wearing a track suit,” Yuuri pointed out.

“Yeah.” Yurio’s brows arched in challenge. “So? What about it? It’s not like I’m the one adopting a kid.”

“Don’t be silly, Yurio!” Viktor called from the foyer. “You’re part of this family too!”

“For the last time, I am not part of this family!” Yurio yelled back. “I have my own family!”

“Yurio…” Yuuri began.

“Don’t start,” Yurio grumbled, lying back down on the couch and tapping at his game. He snorted softly, holding the game closer to his face. “The only good thing about going off to that stupid college is getting away from here.”

From Yurio, that was practically high praise. Viktor peered back into the living room, both of his hands resting on the frame of the dividing wall.

“Don’t be like that, Yurio,” Viktor said, his tone teasing. “We know you’re excited for college.”

“Why would I be excited for college?” asked Yurio, sitting up. “Why do I even have to go to some stupid American college anyway? It’s not like I need a degree!”

“Well, what are you going to do when you retire?” Yuuri asked. “You can’t skate forever.”

“I’ll coach!”

“You know, that doesn’t always work,” Yuuri chided. “There are a lot more skaters than there are coaches.”

Yurio gave him a flat look. “But I’m Yuri Plisetsky.”

Sure, Yuuri thought, looking away. Rub it in. It wasn’t like Yuuri had ever had a time when he had to think of a career other than skating, or anything like that. Nope. Not at all. That had been a distant dream.

Viktor placed a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, leaning in to smile at Yurio. “That’s a lot of talk for someone who only managed a silver medal at Pyeongchang,” he said, speaking casually.

“Shut up!” Yurio said, getting up. “It’s not my fault—I’ll get that stupid JJ back in Milan!”

“By playing video games instead of practicing,” said Victor, tilting his head to the side. His smile never faded. “I see. Interesting strategy, Yurio.”

Yurio flinched as if each sentence had been a physical blow. When Viktor finished speaking, he scowled at him. “How am I supposed to practice?” he asked. “You’re both here.”

“You’re going to have to learn to practice on your own while you’re at college,” Viktor said, shrugging. He pulled away from Yuuri, slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket as he walked away from the living room. “Otherwise, I can’t help you. But if you don’t want to practice, that’s fine. Just make sure you pick a good major, okay? You need to be able to provide for us when we’re older.”

“I’ll put you in a home!” Yurio roared, leaning over the back of his couch.

“You’d do that to your family?” Viktor asked, his expression wounded as he looked back over his shoulder.

“You’re not my family!” Yurio yelled back. “You’re only my coach! I’m a legal adult now, I don’t have to live here. I can live wherever I want, and I can leave whenever I want— _Viktor!_ Put down my passport! That is _kidnapping_!”

“I’m just checking to make sure it’s all up to date for Milan,” said Viktor, smiling innocently as he leafed through Yurio’s Russian passport, which he had pulled from the drawer of one of the living room’s end tables. “Yep, everything looks good here. No need to worry, Yurio.”

He placed the passport back into its drawer, pushing it shut. Yurio scowled, still leaning over the couch’s back rest.

“The only shady character in this house is you,” he said under his breath.

“Honestly, I’m inclined to believe that,” Yuuri muttered from beside Yurio, his eyes on Viktor.

The doorbell rang. Yuuri nearly jumped ten feet in the air. Viktor ran off to get it, all smiles with Makkachin close at his heels, and Yuuri watched as he escorted the caseworker into the house.

“Jennifer,” he said, “How nice to see you again. This is my husband, Yuuri. I talked about him the last time we spoke.”

“I remember,” the caseworker said, giving Yuuri a slightly nervous smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Without thinking, Yuuri dipped his head in a quick Japanese-style bow, then, noticing that she had held out a hand towards him, straightened up and clasped her hand. Behind him, Yurio rolled his eyes, going back to his game. The caseworker’s eyes moved from Yuuri to Yurio and she released his hand, stepping back towards Viktor.

“And—uh—and he is…?”

“Him?” Viktor asked, and Yuuri silently prayed that he would give her a serious answer. Viktor, thankfully, didn’t seem in a joking mood anymore. “He’s my student, Yuri Plisetsky. He lives here. He has a room in the basement.”

“I see…” The caseworker took in Yurio’s attire and scowl, not seeming entirely convinced. “And—um,” She lowered her voice, “he doesn’t have a criminal record or anything, does he?”

Yurio sat up straight, looking over at the conversation from his game.

Viktor laughed. “What, him?” he asked. “He’s harmless. He’s an Olympic figure skating medalist. Only silver, though. We’re flying out to Milan for the World Skating Championship later in the week. Maybe this time, he’ll actually win a gold. Let me show you the rest of the house.”

He flashed a smile at Yuuri and Yurio, leading the caseworker away.

Yurio growled under his breath, his hands clenched tight at his sides as he watched Viktor go.

“I’ll kill him,” he said.

“Not in front of the caseworker!” said Yuuri quickly, reaching out to restrain him.

* * *

 

After the visit, during which Viktor led the caseworker through each room of their house while Yuuri hovered along behind them, feeling awkward and nervous and not really knowing what to say, they convened in the kitchen. Yuuri poured them tea while the caseworker sat down at the kitchen table, drawing a file folder from her tote and setting it on the tabletop between them.

“This seems like a wonderful home for Sonia…” she began, running her fingers along the edge of the folder as if she was searching for her words carefully. “Of course, you two understand that it will take some time for the adoption paperwork to be finalized. In Sonia’s case, because of her circumstances, the process can be expedited, but it will still take several months at least.”

Yuuri sensed a ‘but’ coming very soon, and tensed up as he took a seat at the table beside Viktor. Viktor, sensing that, reached for his hand from under the table, and Yuuri entwined his fingers with his gratefully.

“Of course,” Viktor said, nodding. “We understand.”  

“It’s in the child’s best interests to continue living in a stable home environment, though, so if the both of you are willing, we can process this as ‘foster-to-adopt’. That means Sonia would live with you as a foster child until the paperwork is finalized.”

“That would be fine,” said Viktor.

“Sonia has a place in her current home until the end of the month. Now, you did mention travel plans. How soon can you take her?”

“Hmm…” Viktor frowned in thought, glancing at Yuuri. He squeezed Yuuri’s hand, and Yuuri took that as his cue to speak.

“Um—the competition ends on the 25th,” Yuuri said, quickly thinking back to their calendar. “We’ll be flying back from Italy on the 26th so…any time after that.”

“Let’s say the 28th then, to give you all some time to recover from your trip.”

The caseworker drew in a deep breath, her fingers pressed against the edge of the folder. Yuuri felt his heartrate pick up.

 _This is it…_ he thought.

She opened her mouth. “But…”

He knew it.

“There is one thing…” she said. “And I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned this until now—but I didn’t want to scare you off. This seemed like such a good opportunity for her.”

Viktor frowned, and Yuuri felt his grip on his hand slacken. “Yes?” he asked.

The caseworker hesitated, then slowly opened the folder. Inside it were several photos. She took one out and carefully laid it on the tabletop, pushing it over to the two of them. Yuuri looked down at it.

The picture showed not one but two little girls, both with the same light tan skin and curly brown hair. One of them, the one who stood staring up at the camera with an aloof expression, was the girl that Yuuri recognized from the picture Viktor had sent him. The other one…

“Sonia and Clara Rodriguez, aged 7 and 5,” the caseworker said, breathing deep. “Their mother died of an illness nearly three years ago. Their father killed himself shortly after. Up until now, we’ve always been able to place them together, but if that will be a problem…”

“Hmm…” Viktor frowned, propping his head up on his free hand as he looked over to look at the pictures. Yuuri looked over at him and recognized the look of careful contemplation on Viktor’s face. Viktor glanced at Yuuri, took in the nervousness in his expression, and looked back at the caseworker. “Well, this is very sudden…” he said, his tone measured. “We’ll need to think about this, of course, but we will let you know as soon—.”

Yuuri squeezed his hand tightly, cutting him off.

“Viktor.”  

Viktor fell silent. He could feel the other man looking at him, but his eyes were still on the picture. Unlike Sonia, the younger girl was smiling at the camera, holding on to her sister’s arm. Yuuri gave the picture one last look, his heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears like it always did before he did something crazy.

He looked up at the caseworker.

“We’ll do it,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Viktor asked, looking at him in surprise. “Just the other day, you were saying that we needed to talk about things more—.”

“Yes,” said Yuuri, meeting the caseworker’s eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. We’ll do it.”

* * *

 

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @vnikiforov √

In Milan for #Worlds2018, but @katsukiyuri won’t let me shop!!! D: #saveme #why

 **Yuri Katsuki** @katsukiyuri √

@vnikiforov We are literally adopting two children after this.

 **Viktor Nikiforov** @vnikiforov √

@katsukiyuri But this dress is so cute!!!

**Yuri Katsuki** @katsukiyuri √

@vnikiforov No. Нет. いいえ. Stop.

 **Phichit Chulanont** @phichitchu √

@vnikiforov @katsukiyuri CONGRATULATIONS ON THE #ADOPTION!!! #Worlds2018 #Vikturi


	3. Yurio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discerning AO3 readers might note that this work is part of a series now. Yeppp…
> 
> Send help. 
> 
> Credit for the art in this chapter goes to the wonderful LianneSilver927, my little sister, who can be found on Tumblr under that name. Thanks so much for all the reviews!
> 
> Read the Oturi however you want. It’s written to be ambiguous, because I have given up predicting what MAPPA will do. If you ship, ship away. If not, they’re best friends anyway. 
> 
> A note on the world of this story: Originally, I had them move to the U.S. for very clear, legal reasons (because they can get married in America), but as many of you know, Kubo has put out this wonderful tweet about how in the world of Yuri on Ice, people don’t care about that sort of thing. I will do my best to follow some of the spirit of Kubo’s tweet, so nobody in this story will be outright homophobic and certain things, like their reason for moving to the States, will remain unstated or heavily implied. Unfortunately, the story is already written, and I’m planning on keeping it as is. My reasoning behind this is that we don’t live in a perfect world, as wonderful as that would be. In real life, Viktor and Yuuri would have a lot of challenges, challenges being faced by real life couples like Viktor and Yuuri today. I don’t want to ignore or diminish those challenges by pretending they don’t exist, but I will keep them implied and in the background in order to portray at least part of the world that Kubo wants to bring to life – a world where no one cares and love wins. (also I literally already wrote the first 2 chapters so).

_“Hello and welcome to the 2018 World Figure Skating Championship, coming to you live from Milan, Italy! We’re just wrapping up the men’s figure skating free programs today. For those just tuning in, the man to beat is still 22-year-old Jean-Jacques Leroy from Canada, with an amazing total score of 301.94!_

_The last skater tonight is Yuri Plisetsky from Russia. Plisetsky kicked off the season with a strong start, and was one of the favorites to win the Grand Prix Final in Nagoya after an amazing showing at the Rostelecom Cup and Skate America. Unfortunately, a bad fall during his free program in Nagoya left him trailing behind Leroy and Thailand’s Phichit Chulanont. Since then, Plisetsky is back with a vengeance, bagging a silver medal at the Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang and winning gold at the European Championship. His free program tonight was choreographed by Viktor Nikiforov, his coach and skating legend. Plisetsky is coached by Nikiforov and former Japanese figure skater Yuuri Katsuki. Here he is with his coaches waiting for his scores…”_

* * *

 

**301.93 (2)**

_“WHAT?!”_

Yuuri and Viktor grabbed at Yurio at the same time as he leaped out of his seat, holding onto his arms and stopping him from marching forward towards the screen. Yuuri shot Viktor a panicked look from Yurio’s other side, one that Viktor quickly returned. Yurio’s shoulders strained as he struggled to walk forward, held down by both of them.

“ _LET GO OF ME, YOU IDIOTS! THAT’S NOT POSSIBLE! I DEMAND A RECOUNT! CORRUPTION! THIS IS CORRUPTION! J.J. YOU PIECE OF SH—_ mmph! _”_

Viktor and Yuuri reached up at the same time, covering Yurio’s mouth with their free hands and shoving him back into his seat. Yurio struggled to break free as Yuuri held him down, Viktor jumping up and making frantic signals for the camera to cut to something else.

* * *

 

Yuuri didn’t release his hold on Yurio until they were well away from any cameras, standing in an empty broom closet while Viktor distracted the press outside. When he did, Yurio twisted away from him, a scowl of rage on his face. He wiped at his mouth where Yuuri’s hand had been to keep him from talking.

“Why did you stop me?!” he asked, scowling at Yuuri. “That score is _bullshit_! I’m going to get J.J. for this! Is one of the judges Canadian? One of the judges is Canadian, isn’t he?!”

“Yurio, come on—,” Yuuri said, holding his hands up. “Be reasonable. And keep your voice down.”

“No, I will not keep my voice down!” He walked away from Yuuri, his movements stiff in his skates, his fists clenched at his sides. As Yuuri watched, he clenched his fist, resting his arm on the wall. “ _Agh_! How can this happen? Ever since I moved to stupid America with you guys it’s been like this! How could this year be this bad?! Agh—I can’t take it!”

Yuuri twitched. Yurio, oblivious to the change in mood, went on.

“I should have stayed in St. Petersburg! Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you and the idiot and your family drama—and Oregon—I hate Oregon—who the hell wants to live in freaking _Portland_ anyway—why couldn’t you pick somewhere cool like New York or San—?”

“Bad…year?” Yuuri repeated, his voice soft.

Yurio broke off suddenly, looking over his shoulder with wide eyes. Yuuri was standing still, tense, a forced smile on his face. But his fists were clenched, and there was an obvious cloud of darkness around him.

Yurio’s face paled.

“You medaled in every event you’ve skated in and think you’ve had a bad year?” Yuuri asked, his head tilted to one side. “Let me tell you about a _bad year_ …”

* * *

 

“He’s upset, of course,” said Viktor, smiling his most conciliatory smile at the various reporters that surrounded him. “Who wouldn’t be? But Yuri is an excellent skater. Next season, I’m confident he’ll win a gold medal, and—.”

There was a loud crashing noise from the broom closet. Viktor broke off suddenly, looking over his shoulder. The sound of muffled shouting came from somewhere within.

The voice that was shouting was not Yurio.

“—a-and that’s all I have time to say right now!” Viktor said hurriedly. “Thank you to all the fans for supporting Yuri so far, and come back to see us next season!”

He ignored all the questions after that, turning and running towards the broom closet.

* * *

 

“Wow, gelato! _Vkusno!”_ Viktor said, from his seat at a table outside a small, Milan café. He was smiling as he took another spoonful of the confection.

He was the only one. To his left and right, Yuuri and Yurio sat with their backs turned to each other, Yuuri picking sullenly at his own gelato as Yurio messed around with his phone. The mood at the table was much heavier than Viktor would have liked.

“Come on, Yurio, you haven’t even touched your gelato!” Viktor said. “It’s delicious!”

“I don’t _want_ gelato!” Yurio snapped, looking over at him. “I want J.J.’s head!”

“Huh, I don’t think they make it in that flavor…” Viktor said, taking another spoonful of dark chocolate gelato. “Yuuri, love, how is the _stracciatella_? I was thinking of getting that one.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” Yuuri said, his words clipped. “It’s great actually. You know, I’m grateful for the things I have, unlike _some people at this table.”_

Well, this was clearly not going anywhere. Time to try a different tactic. Viktor set his cup on the table.

“I was thinking we should go to dinner,” he said. “It’s our last night in Milan. We should celebrate!”

“No thanks,” Yurio said, looking up from his phone. “I have plans.”

“Plans?” Viktor asked, brows raising.

As if in answer, the roar of a motorbike cut through the silence of the street, coming to a stop in front of the café. Yurio stood up as Otabek tossed a helmet to him, catching it in one hand.

“Later,” he said, putting the helmet on. “Don’t wait up.”

Viktor watched as Yurio got on the back of the motorcycle, the bike roaring again as it took off down the street. The wind of the motorcycle’s passing moved through his hair, kicking up a cloud of dust. Even Yuuri looked up to watch them go.

Viktor blinked dust out of his eyes. “Hey, Yuuri,” he said. “You don’t think…?”

Yuuri snorted, taking another spoonful of his gelato. “They have to figure that out on their own.”

Yurio’s departure had mollified him somewhat, and Viktor watched with relief as some of the tension left Yuuri’s shoulders. Unlike Yurio, Yuuri rarely stayed angry for long. He took another spoonful of gelato, his eyes sweeping over the café. He had that look that Viktor loved seeing in him, those sparkling eyes, as if he were searching for something. It took a while for Viktor to see what he was looking at.

There was a family sitting by the window of the café, a man and a woman with a little girl and little boy. They were eating gelato. Seen from outside, it was picturesque, the lighting of the café playing interestingly on the glass of the window.  

Viktor smiled, reaching for Yuuri’s hand on top of the table. “Maybe next year,” he said, “we can come here with the girls.”

Yuuri tensed momentarily—he always did whenever Viktor drew him out of himself—but Viktor felt him relax quickly. A smile appeared on his face as he looked down, a flush on his cheeks.

“Next year’s Worlds is in Saitama,” he said.

“Even better,” Viktor said, smiling. He traced a finger across the back of Yuuri’s hand, resting his other elbow on the table and propping his head up. “Your parents can meet them.”

“Mm,” Yuuri said, twisting around in the chair so that he was turned towards him. He leaned closer to Viktor, the gelato momentarily forgotten on the table between them.

“Have you talked to your mother about this yet?” Viktor asked.

“I feel like I’ve been doing nothing _but_ talking to my mother this past week,” Yuuri said. “She’s excited, of course.”

“Hmm,” Viktor said. He drew his hand back, only to adjust his position so he could interlace his fingers with Yuuri’s. Yuuri drew in a breath and looked up.

“Do you think we’re ready for this?” he asked, his eyes suddenly wide. In that moment, he looked terrified. Viktor wanted to kiss him. He squeezed his hand tighter instead, knowing that Yuuri still got embarrassed by public displays of affection.

“I think…” he said, “…that we’re ready for anything.” When Yuuri didn’t respond, Viktor went on. “I mean…am I nervous? Yes, I suppose. But, with everything that’s happened so far, I don’t think there’s anything we _can’t_ do. And besides—,” He gave Yuuri a mischievous smile, “—we’ve had enough practice with Yurio.”

That made Yuuri laugh, and it warmed Viktor’s heart to see the smile spread across his face.

“He’s a brat,” Yuuri said, when he was done laughing.

“Always, love,” Viktor said, drawing Yuuri’s hand up to his mouth and pressing a quick kiss to the knuckle. “But—his being gone isn’t entirely a bad thing. We have the evening to ourselves. What would you like to do?”

Yuuri flushed, looking back at his gelato. It had started to melt while on the table, and was now a mushy, unidentifiable mess. Victor waited, drumming out a rhythm on the side of Yuuri’s index finger with his thumb.

“I think—,” Yuuri finally said, face red. “I think I’m really tired. I think we should just go back to the hotel.”

* * *

 

A pounding on the door woke them both sometime around two in the morning. From beside him, Yuuri groaned, turning over onto his side so that he was facing away from the door. Viktor followed him, annoyed at being woken up, and threw an arm around Yuuri’s shoulder.

“We’re sleeping!” he said in the direction of the door.

The knocking paused for half a second before resuming again, twice as frantic. Viktor sighed and gave up on chasing sleep, pushing himself up. Yuuri flopped onto his stomach, the blanket slipping off of his shoulders as he placed the pillow over his head. Viktor placed a hand on the back of Yuuri’s neck in apology, fingertips brushing through his hair once before he stood up and walked away. He slipped on a bathrobe and tied it, opening the door.

Yurio was standing outside, looking determined.

And drunk. More than a little drunk.

Viktor watched him, raising an eyebrow. “Do you feel better now?” he asked, in English.

Yurio’s response was to grab Viktor by the front of his robe and lean in, eyes narrowed. Viktor could smell the alcohol on his breath. With his free hand, Yurio shook a finger at Viktor’s face.

“I will win,” he said, in curt, guttural Russian. “Next season, I will _win._ I will practice every day, even at college, and I will beat J.J. at the Grand Prix Final in his own damn country.” He pointed at Viktor, finger jabbing into Viktor’s chest. “Make me a winning program. I don’t care what it is. I will skate it. And I will win.”

He pushed Viktor back and let go of him, stumbling in the direction of his room. Viktor watched as he opened the door and slammed it shut. He stood there for a while in Yurio’s passing, blinking. Then, he straightened up and smiled.

“It would have been a winning program if I’d skated it,” he said in English, half to himself.

Yuuri threw a pillow at him.

* * *

 

In the week before Worlds, Yuuri had called his mother several times. Mostly, it was to ask for general advice, because he had no clue what little girls wanted or needed, but there had been more than a few conversations in rapid Japanese about how nervous he was about all of this. He hadn’t intended to call her for that reason, but sometimes, it did slip out.

By the time the 28th rolled around, though, Yuuri felt that the house at least was ready. The spare bedroom had been converted into the perfect bedroom for a little girl, complete with toy chest and writing desk, and thanks to some creative rearranging of their furniture, they had managed to move the computer and desk out of the office and into the living room, turning the small office into a second bedroom for Clara.

Now there wasn’t anything else to do but wait.

Yuuri took a deep breath after checking the rooms one last time, then walked into the living room just as the doorbell rang. Viktor went to get it, as always. Yurio, from his seat on the couch, grumbled something about having to be up here for this.

Viktor opened the door, admitting the two girls and the caseworker. Sonia walked in dragging a beaten up suitcase behind her, her expression flat as she looked around the living room. Clara’s suitcase was too big for her, and the caseworker was holding it. Viktor took it from her quickly and set it down.

“Um—welcome,” Yuuri said, not sure how this was supposed to go. He gave the two girls a smile. “Your rooms are ready, and there’s dinner too. I’m sure you’re tired—.”

“Sonechka!” Viktor said suddenly, overly affectionate as always as he rushed over to the older girl. “You can call me ‘Papa’, okay? This is Yuuri—you can call him ‘Dad’ so it doesn’t get confusing.”

Sonia looked up at him with a blank expression, but the look in her eye was one of barely restrained panic.

“Um—Mr. Nikiforov…”

Viktor’s face fell. From his seat on the couch, Yurio snorted.

“Don’t call him that, kid,” he said. “Only the press calls him that. Just call him Viktor.”

“No—,” Viktor began. “Don’t call me that! Call me—.”

“—Viktor,” said Sonia. “Which room is mine?”

“It’s the first room on the right,” Yuuri said, answering for Viktor, who was staring at Sonia with a crushed expression on his face. Sonia started walking without a word, her beat-up suitcase rolling across the floorboards. She found the room and disappeared into it, closing the door.

Viktor straightened up and turned towards the caseworker, who was watching with a sympathetic expression on her face.

“Give her time,” the caseworker said. “She’s been through a lot. It’s going to take her a while to open up to you.”

Viktor sighed, straightening up. “I know that,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He drew in a deep breath, composing himself, then turned towards Clara, who was blinking at him with a confused expression.

“How about you, Klaroshka?” he asked, crouching down to her level. He smiled at her. “Can you call me ‘Papa’?”

Clara looked up at him shyly, her arms clasped in front of her. “Papa…?” she repeated.

Viktor beamed, grabbing her under the arms. He picked her up, spinning her around. “Yes,” he said, laughing. “Yes, exactly!”

Yurio rolled his eyes from his seat on the couch, going back to his game.

“Great,” he said. “You’re already being disgusting.”

* * *

 

**yuri-plisetsky**

**3,206 likes** 3d

**yuri-plisetsky** screw you, J.J. At least I have friends. (@otabek-altin because you never freaking post anything so w/e)

**yuriangelqueen** omg where is this?!

**alicialovesskating** you were so cool today! I love your free program!

**Avl_insta** tell @otabek-altin to post more!!!

**stalker_chicklolz** WER U?

**iceprinces33** Я люблю тебя так сильно! Is that right? I used Google Translate #tbh #butimeanit


	4. Clara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being bilingual messes with your head sometimes XD. Poor Yuuri. (And Viktor and Yurio I suppose, but Yuuri in this chapter).
> 
> My sister would like me to let you all know that the tag for this story on Tumblr is yoi:home. I have no idea what any of that means, but have fun with it.

“You need to give her space,” Yuuri said the next day, as he stood at the kitchen counter placing food into three separate bento boxes. “Don’t push her. Let her come to you. She’ll come around eventually.”

Viktor let out a heavy sigh from where he was slumped over the kitchen table, a half-empty mug of coffee beside him. “I know,” he said.

As if on cue, a small figure stepped into the boundary between the hallway and the kitchen, one of her hands resting on the archway as she looked hesitantly into the kitchen. Viktor sat straight upright, hands gripping the sides of his chair as if he was trying to keep himself in it. Yuuri glanced over at him and sighed inwardly. Viktor looked like Makkachin after being told not to touch someone.

“Um…” Sonia said, giving Viktor an uncertain glance before padding her way up to the table. “Is there breakfast? I can have cereal…”

“We have cereal if you’d like that,” Yuuri said, wiping his hands off on the kitchen towel. “We also have fruit and oatmeal, and we can make eggs if you want. What would you like, Sonia-chan?”

“Um…oatmeal is fine.”

“Sure,” said Yuuri, grabbing a bowl from one of the cupboards. “Fruit? We have strawberries.”

“Strawberries are fine.” Sonia eyed the chair across from Viktor nervously, making no move to sit in it. Yuuri sighed, grabbing the oatmeal out of another cabinet.

“Actually, Viktor, can you make sure Clara gets ready for school?” he asked.

Viktor sprang out of his seat immediately, as if glad to be given any task at all. Sonia watched as he disappeared down the hallway, and only then did she exhale, pulling out the chair and sliding into it. Yuuri noted that she’d gotten ready for school without being told, putting on a faded pink shirt and a pair of pants that were starting to get a little too short (he made a mental note to take them clothes shopping, but maybe when Viktor wasn’t around so that they didn’t accidentally buy up the entire mall). He also noticed that no one had had to tell her to leave her shoes off at the door.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, placing the bowl of oatmeal in the microwave.

“I slept okay,” said Sonia. She didn’t look at him when she spoke, keeping her eyes on the far wall.

“The room isn’t too cold, is it?” Yuuri asked.

Sonia shook her head. “No,” she said. “It’s fine.”

“Do you need anything?” Yuuri asked.

“Not really.”

Sonia watched as he set breakfast in front of her, picking up a spoon and starting to eat. The movements were mechanical, well-practiced. Yuuri wondered if she even tasted what she was eating. He went back to preparing lunch, having given up the conversation for lost when Sonia spoke up.

“Um…Yuuri? What are you doing?”

Yuuri let out a breath of relief, looking over his shoulder at her. “I’m making bento,” he said. “Lunch boxes. For you and Clara.”

“Ah.” Sonia took a spoonful of oatmeal and chewed it slowly, considering. “Why?”

“Uh…” ‘Why’ wasn’t exactly a question he had been prepared to answer about bento. Yuuri thought about it for a second. “…So you can have something good to eat for lunch.”

“Schools have lunches, though,” said Sonia.

“I know they do,” said Yuuri. “But—uh—where I come from, this is what we do.” And American school lunches were horrible, from what he remembered of Phichit complaining about them.

Sonia frowned, considering his explanation. Then, she nodded, digging her spoon back into the bowl of oatmeal. “Okay.”

Yuuri turned back to his task, weirdly relieved to have gotten through that conversation in one piece. He started placing the lids on the bento boxes—the first a pink one with flowers that he had picked up at the Asian market for Sonia, the second a blue one with a cartoon bear on it for Clara. He had just started putting the lid on a third—a nondescript white one—when footsteps pounded up the stairs from the basement.

“I’m leaving,” Yurio said, stomping down the hall outside the kitchen with a backpack slung over one shoulder and an earbud in one ear.

“Ah—Yurio, wait!” Yuuri grabbed the white bento box off of the countertop, running over to him. “Here!” he said, holding it out to him.

Yurio frowned down at it suspiciously. “What is this?” he asked.

“A bento box,” said Yuuri. “I made extra.”

Yurio’s eyes moved from Yuuri to the bento boxes on the counter behind him to Sonia, watching the scene from her seat on the table. He scowled, grabbing the bento box out of Yuuri’s hands and rushing for the door. At around the same time, Viktor emerged out of the living room, stepping into Yurio’s path.

“The little princess is in the shower and will be out in a few minutes,” he was saying. “She requests strawberries and—.”

He blinked as Yurio leaped to the side to avoid running right into him, yanking open the front door and stepping into his sneakers in two quick movements.

Viktor frowned at him in confusion. “Yurio, you’re leaving now? It’s early!”

“I’m taking the bus,” Yurio snapped on his way out the door. The front door shut with a sharp crack behind him, and Viktor made his way into the kitchen, looking perplexed.

“Why is Yurio taking the bus?” he asked Yuuri. “What’s wrong with his car?”

“Nothing’s wrong with his car,” said Yuuri. “He’s lending it to us so we can take the girls to school.”

Viktor tilted his head to the side, still looking confused. Yuuri sighed, turning to face him.

“We need to file some paperwork at the schools so that they know who we are, remember?” he said. “It might take a little bit of time. Since Sonia’s going to the elementary school and Clara’s still in kindergarten, it’s probably easier if we take them to school separately. That way, we’re sure that neither of them gets there late.”

“Ah, right,” said Viktor. His eyes moved over the table and landed on Sonia, who had stopped eating and was watching him carefully. He looked back at Yuuri, looking resigned. “I’ll…take Clara in Yurio’s car.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri said, smiling at him.

* * *

 

The days that followed settled into a sort of rhythm. Sonia continued to remain distant and stand-offish, and would freeze whenever Viktor entered the room, much to Viktor’s disappointment. She spoke more to Yuuri, but even then conversations were sparing, and mostly involved Sonia asking where things were or what it was okay for her to do. She rarely opened up about personal topics, and preferred to stay in her room, in the kitchen, or wherever in the house had the fewest number of people. She avoided Yurio’s basement like the plague. Yuuri put it down to shyness and discomfort and hoped that she would open up in time.

Clara, however, was a completely different story. The younger girl had latched onto them almost as soon as she arrived in the house, which helped Viktor’s mood somewhat. The two of them were sitting on the couch now, Viktor smiling as Clara told him something about her day while they waited to watch a movie Yuuri remembered from his childhood. Yuuri smiled as he walked past them, stepping around a sleeping Makkachin and walking into the kitchen.

Sonia looked up as he entered, her shoulders tensing. She was seated at the kitchen table, working on her homework. He gave her a smile to try to put her at ease and she exhaled, looking back at the page in front of her.

“Do you want to watch a movie with us?” Yuuri asked, reaching for a bowl to put popcorn in. “We’re watching _Totoro_.”

Sonia’s eyes moved towards the living room, taking in the sight of Viktor sitting on the couch in front of the TV. She looked back at her homework quickly. “No thank you.”

“Alright,” Yuuri said. “Let me know if you need any help.”

As an afterthought, he placed a cup of milk in the microwave and heated it until it was warm, then placed it on a coaster in front of her. Sonia didn’t react except to lower her eyes to her lap, but when he had walked past her into the living room, he thought he saw her reach out, her fingers ghosting across the rim of the cup as if in wonder.

He smiled.

* * *

 

Clara laughed as the movie played, clapping her hands together and singing along to the theme song. Yuuri found that he couldn’t enjoy it as much as she seemed to. He frowned at the screen, arms folded as he leaned in towards it and tried to figure out exactly what was wrong.

Viktor looked over at him, confused.

“Yuuri?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said, squinting at the screen. “This doesn’t feel right, somehow. It’s not the movie I remember…”

“Hmm…” Viktor frowned as he thought, one of his hands lazily petting Makkachin, who had abandoned his comfortable spot on the carpet to curl up on the couch with them. He looked back at the movie. “Could it be because it’s in English?”

_“It is_?!” Yuuri asked, startled.

He straightened up and listened to the words, surprised to find that Viktor was right. How could he possibly have missed that? He was still thinking about how used he had gotten to hearing and speaking English when Viktor’s phone rang suddenly, the shrill sound of it cutting through the sound of the movie. Yuuri fumbled with the remote as Viktor reached for his phone, managing to pause it just in time. Clara looked at both of them in disappointment as Viktor checked the name on his caller ID.

“Sorry, Klaroshka,” Viktor said, holding up a hand. “Just a minute. I have to take this.”

He stood up, pressing the phone to his ear. Yuuri frowned, looking over the back of the couch as Viktor walked away. He was speaking softly enough that Yuuri had trouble hearing him, but he was definitely speaking in English, not Russian. Who would be calling them at this time of night?

“Well,” Yuuri said, glancing back at Clara, who was watching them with a look of expectation. “It can’t be helped, I guess. Bathroom break?”

“Okay!” said Clara brightly, leaping to her feet.

* * *

 

_“Totoro, totoro~”_ Clara sang as she walked back to the living room from the bathroom. _“Totoro, totoro~ Totoro—”_

She came to a sudden stop as she walked past the door that led into the basement, frowning down at it. The stairs were dark, but a light was on at the very bottom, a bright white light as if it was coming from a screen. She looked around, but neither Viktor nor Yuuri were anywhere to be seen, and nobody was calling her yet.

Making her decision, she drew in a breath and began to climb down the stairs.

* * *

 

Yuri Plisetsky was watching TV.

The nice thing about having the basement room, Yuri thought, was that he was pretty much isolated from the rest of the house. He had his own bedroom and bathroom, and a little living space with his own TV, and aside from meals, he didn’t actually _have_ to be involved in the sickening family drama that was going on upstairs. He could just sit here, alone and unbothered, with his cat and his cellphone and his computer. It was definitely _not_ a lonely existence, and even if it _did_ start to feel that way, he could always go upstairs.

He was lying on the couch now, the hood of his jacket up and his cat resting on his chest, blissfully ignoring the rest of the house as people walked around upstairs.

That was, at least, until a small head popped up from somewhere around the vicinity of his right knee.

Yuri shouted in surprise and scooted back suddenly, which only startled his cat. The animal dug its claws into the fabric of his shirt painfully, and Yuri hissed as it leaped away, jumping over the back of his couch with an affronted yowl. He rubbed at his chest, wincing at the pain, and glared down at the five-year-old girl that had started all of this.

“Hello,” Clara said, blinking at Yuri.

Yuri drew in a deep breath and tried to remember that she was only five.

“Hello,” he said, somewhat stiffly.

“You’re Yurio, right?” asked Clara.

Yuri scowled in annoyance. “My name isn’t Yurio!” he said.

“Really?” Clara asked, tilting her head to the side. “But everyone calls you that.”

“Yes, they do, but it’s not my name!”

“What is your name then?” Clara asked.

“Yuri.”

Clara’s face wrinkled up at his answer. “But Dad is Yuuri, right? So that’s really confusing!”

Yuri looked back at the screen, slumping forward in his seat. “Well, I guess, if you really need to call me something, you can call me ‘Yura’. Just not Yurio, okay? That’s weird.”

“Hmm…” Clara frowned, considering that for a moment, before her expression brightened. “Okay, Yura! What are you watching?”

“Some movie,” Yuri said, which was true, because he had only half been paying attention to it. He had been on his phone for most of the first act and now had no idea what it was about, except that a lot of people with guns wanted to kill the main character. Clara blinked at the screen and looked back at him.

“Do you want to come up with me?” she asked. “We’re watching _Totoro_!”

“No way in—.” Yuri caught himself from saying _hell,_ but just barely. “—Uh—I mean, not really interested.”

“But Papa said it was a family movie night,” Clara said.

“Yeah, well I’m not part of that family, okay, kid?” Yuri said, picking up the remote and idly flipping through channels. “I have my own family.”

Clara looked up at him with wide eyes. “You have a real family?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Yuri absently. “I have a grandfather back in Russia.”

“That’s nice,” said Clara. “Sonia said we used to have a real family too, but we don’t anymore, so now we stay with other people’s families.”

Yuri went tense, nearly dropping the remote.

_Crap,_ he thought, looking back at Clara. That was _not_ where he wanted this conversation to go. The kid didn’t seem upset about saying it though, instead treating it like it was just a fact of life. Was it possible that that was even sadder?

Yes, that was definitely possible. And it was also possible that Yuri was starting to panic a little bit.

He never thought he would ever feel so grateful for the arrival of Viktor.

“Klaroshka?” Viktor called from the top of the stairs. “Are you down there? We’re going to watch the movie now!”

“Coming!” Clara said, pushing back off the couch and leaping to her feet. “Bye, bye, Yura!”

“You should come up too, Yurio!” Viktor said, as Clara made her way up the steps. “Come watch a movie with us!”

“I don’t need to watch some dumb kid’s movie!” said Yuri, scowling at Viktor. “If you have time to watch movies, you should be making my program! Or did you forget already?”

“Oh, I didn’t forget,” said Viktor, and Yuri could hear the smile in his voice. “Don’t worry so much, Yurio! Enjoy the off-season for once! Come on, Klaroshka, let’s get back to our movie.”

* * *

 

“Viktor?” Yuuri asked later that night, his voice still bleary from sleep as he wandered out into the living room.

Viktor was seated at his desk in the living room, his phone in his hand and earphones in his ears as he cycled through music. He had a pad of paper in front of him, and was tapping it with the cap of his pen while he worked. Makkachin was curled up on the floor by his feet.

He looked up as Yuuri walked into the living room and pulled an earbud out of his ear.

“It’s one in the morning,” Yuuri said, which had never felt late to him once upon a time, but which now felt like an ungodly hour to still be awake at.  “Are you coming to bed?”

“Hmm, in a minute,” said Viktor, giving him a reassuring smile. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be there soon.”

Yuuri frowned, skeptical, but nodded, turning around and walking back to bed.

* * *

 

As March bled into April, the three of them started going back out to the rink again, mostly for Yurio to practice his fundamentals and get warmed up before they started seriously discussing a new program. Because Sonia was interested, Sonia and Clara came with them. Yuuri was glad to see that Sonia opened up a little to Viktor on the ice. It wasn’t the closeness that Viktor wanted, but she didn’t shy away from him there, accepting him as a teacher if not as a parent. Yuuri watched as Yurio leaped and spun away from the rest of them and Viktor helped Sonia with her turns, then looked back at Clara.

The younger girl was sliding out onto the ice with a skeptical expression on her face, one hand on the rink wall. Yuuri considered as he looked at her that she didn’t seem to be enjoying herself at all.

* * *

 

“Do you like skating, Clara-chan?” Yuuri asked one day, when they were sitting alone on the floor of her room, Clara idly coloring a blank page of paper. It was early in the afternoon, and both Sonia and Yurio were still at school. Viktor had gone to take Makkachin out for a walk.

Clara frowned as she considered the question, drawing a red crayon across the page. “Not really,” she admitted.

“Then why do you keep coming out to the rink with us?” Yuuri asked.

“Because if I don’t skate, you two won’t love me anymore.”

The words were said matter-of-factly, without any sadness or resentment, as if that was simply how things were. And it was not at all the answer that Yuuri was expecting. He stared at her, aware that he should say something to reassure her, that he should reach for her and tell her that that was not true and that they would care about her no matter what she did, but he found himself suddenly unable to find the words. So instead, he stood up, walked out of her room, and closed the door.

Then he started crying. And when he was done with that, he went out into the living room to wait for Viktor so that they could have a serious conversation about how they were coming across to the girls.

Later that night, they did all sit down and have that reassuring conversation about how it didn’t matter what Clara did, and that she didn’t have to skate to feel valued by them.

The next day, Viktor, Yurio and Sonia went out to the rink. Clara hung up her skates.

* * *

 


	5. Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 11? Hahaha, what episode 11? You mean the one where Yurio beat Viktor’s world record and Viktor and Yuuri kissed their rings? Yeah, yeah, of course I watched it! After credits scene? (nervous laughter) I don’t know what you’re talking about! EVERYTHING IS FINE TAKE SOME FANFICTION
> 
> Opening scene brought to you by that wonderful smile/glare combination Viktor pulled on Yurio in Episode 10, to remind us that he can be scary when he wants to be. (And what doesn’t work on Yuuri works on Yurio^^)
> 
> Also, apologies for the confusion. Yurio is ‘Yuri’ from his point of view. To keep things from getting too terribly confusing, Yuuri Katsuki will always be spelled ‘Yuuri’ in narration.

“I can’t skate to that! Viktor, are you crazy?!”

The shout broke through the quiet of the house, emanating from the kitchen. Yuuri, who had been sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table with Clara, looked up sharply at the sound. From her seat on the couch, Sonia looked up uncertainly from her book, looking over her shoulder at the scene.

Yurio was standing in front of Viktor, his face pulled into an angry glare. Viktor stood with his back to the kitchen counters, a smirk on his face and one arm folded across his chest. The other held onto his phone.

“You told me you’d skate to anything,” Viktor said. “Are you going back on your promise now?”

“I don’t remember making that promise!” Yurio said. “I don’t remember that conversation at all!”

“I’d be surprised if you did,” said Viktor, and Yuuri thought he looked entirely too smug about all of this. “But the important thing, Yurio, is that _I_ remember it. Besides…you want to win, don’t you?”

Yurio clenched his fists tightly, taking a step forward. Yuuri started to stand up in case he needed to intervene, but Yurio stopped a few inches away, glaring up at Viktor from beneath a curtain of blond hair.

“If this doesn’t work, I’ll quit skating with you!”

Viktor leaned forward, blue eyes fixed on Yurio, and although Yurio had closed the height gap somewhat over the past few years, Viktor still seemed to _loom_ over the younger skater. He was smiling, but it wasn’t a smile that reached his eyes. Even from this distance, Yuuri felt a chill. It wasn’t a look that Viktor had ever used on him, and it reminded him just how intimidating the other man could be.

“If this doesn’t work,” Viktor said, still smiling, “I’ll resign.”

Yurio held Viktor’s gaze for a few moments longer than Yuuri would have been able to before he scowled, looking away.

“Tch,” he said, reaching for the gym bag that rested on the kitchen table. “Let’s just go out to the rink.”

* * *

 

April passed by in a whirlwind of school days and practice with Yurio and lessons and club activities. Clara started making friends at school, which led to her having people to play with on some afternoons while the rest of them were out skating. When she wasn’t over at a friends’ house, she sat on the bleachers, sometimes watching cartoons on someone’s tablet, sometimes drawing, or sleeping, or daydreaming. Sonia started taking ballet.

It was a warm day in early May when Yuri Plisetsky walked past Sonia’s bedroom to find her practicing, one hand on her desk as she stubbornly tried to get her leg up behind her. She’d clearly been at it for a while, her face was scrunched up in frustration, and her clothes were soaked in sweat. Yuri walked forward a few more steps, stopped himself, and reluctantly walked back over to the room.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he said, walking up to her. “It’s like _this_.”

He wasn’t as flexible as he used to be, a fact that caused him no end of frustration, but he could do this much at least. He placed one hand on her bed for support and demonstrated. Her eyes followed the movement, her mouth opening as if she wanted to say something. Yuri watched her carefully.

Clara had pretty much invited herself into the basement so many times that he didn’t bother chasing her out anymore, but Sonia was a different story. She’d been here over a month and was still barely talking to any of them. He half-expected her to panic and run away.

Instead, she nodded, gritting her teeth, and tried to arch her back, lifting her leg higher.

“No,” Yuri said, emphasizing the arch of his spine. “Like _this_. No—straighter. Yes, okay. No, no, no, you lost it.”

She placed both of her feet back on the floor, taking deep breaths. He frowned at her.

“You’re not ready for that one yet,” he said. “You need to be more flexible first.”

Sonia lowered her eyes to the ground. He straightened up, half-expecting her to stay silent. She surprised him. She nodded.

“I…know.”

He rolled his eyes. On one level, he had better things to do than spend his time coddling some kid. But on another…

…there was something in her eyes that he recognized. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it reminded him of something Otabek might have said once.

“I stretch every morning before school,” he said. “You can join me if you want, but I’m not going to wait up for you. At least until I go to college, anyway.”

He walked away. Yuri didn’t actually expect her to turn up. But the next morning, she was there.

* * *

 

There were rough spots over the first few months. Sonia’s aloofness was a near-constant rough spot, nagging at the back of Viktor’s mind whenever he saw her, but Clara had her moments too, like the first time she had woken up from sleep with a nightmare.

It was cute that Clara trusted him, but Viktor found himself forced to consider that her lack of personal boundaries might have been a problem. At least that was what he thought when he opened his eyes in the middle of the night for some reason or another and found her staring right at him, her face inches away from his.

He yelled in surprise and jerked back into Yuuri, which only made Yuuri yell as he jolted awake, which only made Makkachin bark as he leaped off the bed, which only made Clara scream and hide under the bed, her hands over her head.

Viktor drew in a breath and placed a hand over his chest to calm his racing heart, then, when he no longer felt like he was about to have a heart attack, looked down over the side of the bed at the little girl. Beside him, Yuuri reached for the lamp beside the bed, flicking it on.

“Klaroshka?” he asked. “Is everything alright? I’m sorry I scared you.”

Clara emerged slowly from her hiding place under the bed, sniffling. “I had a nightmare,” she said. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs before Viktor could respond, the door to their bedroom flying open. Yurio stepped in, bleary-eyed from sleep and brandishing an ice skate in one hand.

“What, what, what?” he asked. “What is it? What’s going on?”

He blinked as his eyes moved over the scene in front of him—Yuuri and Viktor sitting up in bed looking startled and confused, Makkachin standing on the floor looking worried, Clara standing by the side of the bed with tears in her eyes. There was a moment of confusion before he came fully awake, his eyes moving from the bed to the skate in his hand.

“Were you planning on skating him to death?” Yuuri asked, leaning against the headboard. He was breathing quickly, as if he was still trying to calm down.

Yurio’s eyes moved back to the skate and a flush spread over his face. It started as an ordinary flush and then grew deeper and brighter, until his whole face was red. “Sh-Shut up!” he said, shaking the skate. “It’s the first thing I grabbed! It’s sharp! It would have worked!”

“I’m flattered that you came to save us, Yurio, but we’re all fine,” Viktor said, smiling. He placed a hand on Clara’s shoulder. “Klaroshka just had a nightmare.”

He watched as Yurio tried to process this, his eyes sweeping over the room one last time before landing on Clara. “W-Well, don’t let it happen again!” he yelled, slamming the door closed behind him.

Beneath his grip, Clara flinched, letting out a whimper.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Viktor said. “It’s okay.” He drew her closer, helping her up onto the bed. He set her down beside him. Yuuri was already sitting up, moving closer to them.

“Yura’s mad…” Clara said, sniffling.

“Yurio’s always mad about something,” said Viktor, placing a hand on her head. “Why don’t you tell us about your nightmare…?”

* * *

 

There was also the time that Clara decided to throw a tantrum in the morning about…well, Viktor wasn’t entirely sure, and he wasn’t fully convinced that Clara knew what it was either. All children had bad days, and Clara, being the sweet, cheerful child that she normally was, apparently decided to have all her bad days at once. She did that all while Sonia looked on with a horrified expression and tried to get her sister to quiet down when she thought that nobody was looking.

By the time they had managed to bundle up both girls into the car so that Yuuri could take them to school, they were both quite stressed, and Viktor automatically shifted to the side from his seat on the couch when Yuuri came home, giving him room to drop onto the couch next to him. Yuuri all but collapsed onto the couch with a sigh, resting his head on Viktor’s shoulder.

“All done?” Viktor asked, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“All done,” Yuuri confirmed. “Both kids at school, and no one was late.” Which, given the events of this morning, was a small miracle in and of itself. He frowned, his expression growing distant, brow furrowing as if something was bothering him. Viktor waited for him to speak, his thumb rubbing slow circles on the back of Yuuri’s hand until he felt the other man relax.

“You don’t think we were too hard on her, do you?” he asked, after a while.

“I don’t think we were,” Viktor said. “I think it would have been a problem if we hadn’t been a little hard on her at all. She has to learn that she can’t scream, cry, and shout every time she doesn’t get her way. One kid who thinks he can get away with it is bad enough already.”

Yuuri snorted, and Viktor knew he was thinking of the look on Yurio’s face when he had come upstairs to see the crying. He’d never seen Yurio pack up and leave the house so quickly. The boy looked almost panicked.

“She stopped crying by the time we got to her school,” Yuuri said, closing his eyes. “She looked so sad when I dropped her off.”

“Hmm…” Viktor continued rubbing the back of Yuuri’s hand, frowning as he thought about it. “She’ll be fine when she gets home, I’m sure. We can talk to her about it then.”

“Mm.”

Yuuri fell silent for so long that Viktor thought he might have fallen asleep, but then Viktor felt him come awake suddenly, a new tension in the air. His eyes opened, and he sat up a little so that he wasn’t leaning completely on him.

“Um…Viktor?” he said, his eyes on the living room floor.

Viktor smiled. “Yes, Yuuri?”

“It—uh, well, the kids are at school. Clara isn’t going to be back until after lunch, and Sonia and Yurio won’t be back until the afternoon.”

“Hmm…?” Viktor asked, still smiling. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

_“Viktor!”_ Yuuri said, face red.

Viktor laughed, throwing an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “I’m just teasing you, life and love,” he said.

“Mou…” Yuuri pouted, but leaned into the touch.

Viktor’s smile changed as he turned towards him, reaching under his chin. He tilted Yuuri’s face up towards his, meeting his eyes. He was smiling. Yuuri stared up at him in surprise, the pout vanishing from his face. Viktor dragged his thumb across Yuuri’s lower lip. He leaned closer.

“Now,” he said, breath fanning across Yuuri’s lips, “how long did you say we had until Clara got home?”

* * *

 

“Sonia thought we were sending her back…”

The words were said later that night, breathed out into the quiet air of their room while they were both falling asleep. Yuuri was on his side, his back to Viktor, arms and legs wrapped tight around a pillow like they always were when he was thinking hard about something. Viktor hummed in response, rolling over onto his side to face him, fingertips brushing lightly over Yuuri’s side.

“When?” he asked, scooting closer so that they were resting their heads on the same pillow, his mouth close to Yuuri’s ear.

“This morning…” Yuuri said, his eyes fixed on the far wall. “When I was taking her to school. After Clara threw her tantrum. She looked so scared—like she really believed we were going to send them back after this…”

Yuuri fell silent. Viktor closed his eyes. He searched for Yuuri’s hand and found it. Yuuri interlaced their fingers together.

“We’re not sending them back…” Viktor said after a moment, the words exhaled into the air between them.

“No,” Yuuri said, and somehow, although they had gone into this planning to adopt the girls and the adoption was being processed as they spoke, it had never seemed so final until this this moment. “No, we’re not. Never.”

* * *

 

“Have you thought about Yurio’s free skate yet?” Yuuri asked Viktor one Friday while they were alone in the house, and Yuuri was opening the windows to let in the fresh air of late spring.

“I have,” Viktor said from the couch, tapping his cheek idly with his pen. “I just need some input from him before I can make any final decisions.”

“Input?” Yuuri asked, looking back at Viktor. “Like what?”

“Like what he wants to express at this competition,” Viktor said. “His feelings, his reason for winning. What _defines_ him. That sort of thing.”

Yuuri frowned, trying to think of a situation where Yurio would be comfortable enough discussing that sort of thing with them. His imagination clearly couldn’t work that hard. “Could we maybe ask someone?” he asked. “Otabek, or someone else who knows Yurio better?”

Viktor shook his head. “Secondhand information is no good,” he said. “If we want this to be honest, it will have to come straight from the source.”

“Well, he gets weepy when he’s drunk,” said Yuuri, shrugging as he walked past Viktor. “But you wouldn’t actually—.”

“That’s it!” said Viktor, sitting bolt upright.

Yuuri gaped at him. “It is?” he asked.

Viktor grinned. “It is!”

“Viktor, that’s illegal in this country!” Yuuri said. “I didn’t actually mean that you should— _Viktor!”_

“Going to the store,” Viktor said, already reaching for the car keys. “Yuuri, you should take the girls out to dinner tonight! Maybe go see a movie!”

He closed the door behind him before Yuuri could reply, leaving Yuuri feeling confused, exasperated, and with a sense of mounting dread that they were about to be arrested.

* * *

 

Whatever Viktor and Yurio had talked about that night must have done the trick, because the both of them woke up hungover the next day (Yurio worse than Viktor), and then not too long later, Viktor announced that he was talking to someone about commisioning the music for Yurio’s free program. The days marched on, the warmth of spring bleeding into the mild heat of early summer. The ever-present rains started to taper off, the sun shining brilliantly on the last week or so of the school year.

Soon it would be summer, and after that Yurio would be heading off to college. And while he wasn’t going very far—only about two hours away by car—it still meant that he would be living and practicing elsewhere during the school week. The thought of letting Yurio loose on an unsuspecting American university was a little nervewracking, but he’d be coming back every weekend and Viktor would be driving down to see him once or twice a week, so things should be alright. At the moment, Yuuri was more focused on the coming summer.

Summer meant that the girls would be at home all day. And it meant that maybe, just maybe, they might actually start to see Sonia open up.

He was hopeful, especially for Viktor’s sake. Sonia, at least, talked to Yuuri once in a while. He’d never been through what she’d been through, but he understood at some level that she was distancing herself from them on purpose, that whether she knew it or not, she was trying not to be hurt. And she knew that Viktor had surprised and frightened her when she first walked in through their door, but none of that explained why she was still shying away from him now.

Those thoughts ran through his head as he opened the door to her room to clean it, running a vacuum over the carpeted floor. Makkachin followed him in, leaping over the vacuum cord and barking as he ran around the room. He didn’t seem as afraid of the vacuum cleaner as most dogs did—but he supposed most dogs also didn’t fly internationally as often as Makkachin. Yuuri tried to nudge the poodle out of the way as gently as possible, still wondering why Sonia was so afraid of Viktor and what they could do to show her that she didn’t have to be.

Makkachin leaped over the vacuum cleaner, sniffing at something on Sonia’s bed. His tail was wagging as he pawed at something sticking out from under the mattress. Yuuri frowned, shutting off the vacuum cleaner and walking over to him.

“What is it, Makka?” he asked, scratching the poodle behind the ears. Makkachin let out a huffing sound, licking at his hand. Yuuri smiled and knelt closer to see what he was looking at.

It looked like the edge of a folded up sheet of paper. Yuuri tugged at it carefully, lifting the mattress so that it wouldn’t tear.

He unfolded it.

It was a poster. A beaten up, dog-eared poster, folded and unfolded so many times that the creases had become part of it. Viktor’s face from a handful of years ago stared up at him from the sheet, back arched in a graceful pose, skates sliding across the ice, face tilted up towards the camera.

He recognized this poster. He’d had one just like it once.

“Oh,” Yuuri said, and then realization struck him. His expression softened, his grip loosening on the poster. _“Oh…”_

* * *

 

**Yuri Plisetsky** @yuriplisetsky √

Viktor said I need to stop swearing on social media so FUCK SHIT GODDAMMIT HELL сука Отъеби́сь #SOTHERE.

**Yuri Plisetsky** @yuriplisetsky √

I am now banned from social media until the start of the season. For updates on my skating, please follow @vnikiforov or @katsukiyuri.

**Юрий Пирожки** @yuripirozhki

FML.

* * *


	6. Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the support you’ve shown for this story! I’m really happy to write it and looking forward to seeing where this goes!

“Viktor,” Yuuri said, “come take a look at this.”

Viktor looked up from where he was reading in bed, putting his book facedown on the comforter beside him. Yuuri was holding his laptop, a serious expression on his face. The other man came to sit on the edge of the bed nearest him, showing him the laptop’s screen. Viktor looked up and noticed that Yuuri had closed the bedroom door on his way in.

“I found the news article about Sonia and Clara,” Yuuri said, opening a tab.

Viktor sat up straighter, looking over Yuuri’s shoulder.

“There was a news article?” he asked.

“Mm,” said Yuuri. “I was thinking about what the caseworker told us, about how their father killed himself. I was hoping it might explain why Sonia’s having a hard time adjusting, so I looked it up. I searched for ‘Rodriguez suicide California’, and this is what I got. It’s from around the right date.”

Viktor frowned, studying Yuuri’s face. Something was different about him that he couldn’t quite place. He looked almost like he had when he was skating, when he had found a task that filled him with purpose. He wondered what had brought this on.

Curious, he looked down at the screen, resting his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder so that he could see better and scrolling through the article.

“He shot himself,” Yuuri said, his voice soft and sad. “He called 911, told them he had kids in the house. Then he locked the door, went outside, got in the car…”

He trailed off, his voice hitching. Viktor pulled closer to him, one of his hands covering Yuuri’s own as the other continued to scroll through the article.

“She was four,” Viktor said, when he got to the part of the article that talked about the children. They weren’t mentioned by name, but the article did mention two daughters and listed their ages.

“And Clara was two…” Yuuri said. He went tense suddenly in Viktor’s hold, sitting up. “You don’t think she remembers—?”

“Clara?” Viktor asked. “She might, but I doubt it. Sonia, on the other hand…”

It explained some things. It explained a lot of things.

He thought of the girl he had met on the rink not too long ago, the girl with the sad eyes, the girl who seemed so scared to open her heart.

“It’s sad,” Yuuri said, looking at the screen. “I can’t imagine someone ever…” He went quiet. Viktor waited for him to finish the thought, squeezing his hand for support. “…ever _leaving_ them that way.”

Of course Yuuri couldn’t. Yuuri, with his beautiful family in Hasetsu, with all those people who loved and supported him unconditionally. Viktor wished he could have been as lucky. He let out a heavy sigh and turned his head, his lips brushing across the side of Yuuri’s face.

“We won’t ever leave them…” Yuuri mumbled, his eyes still on the screen.

“No,” Viktor said, giving him another, fleeting, kiss. “Of course not.”

The problem would be figuring out how to make _Sonia_ believe it.

* * *

 

Summer came, and with it, two ceremonies—Yurio’s high school graduation, which Viktor cheerfully recorded and plastered all over the social media channels that Yurio himself wasn’t currently allowed to use, and a little kindergarten graduation ceremony for Clara, which did not get the same treatment, but which the two of them happily sent out to Yuuri’s family in Japan instead.

After that followed the long, endless summer days.

The two of them spent a lot of time out on the rink with Yurio, getting him ready for the opening of the season. In that way, it wasn’t much different from the previous summer, but there were also family activities that hadn’t been part of last season—pool parties and day hikes with Makkachin and week-long summer camps (Sonia chose dance, Clara, arts and crafts). Portland had a nice Japanese garden, so he and Yuuri took the girls there one day with Yuuri telling them all about Hasetsu and promising to take them both next year.

They also dragged Yurio off the ice for a two-day camping trip. He complained the entire way about not having any phone signal and not caring about nature, but he seemed to enjoy himself just fine, despite being angry at Yuuri for being able to start a fire faster than he could. Yurio’s competitive spirit served him well on the ice, but it always seemed to manifest in the strangest ways off of it, such as him getting angry at Yuuri for insinuating that he could make better s’mores.

This resulted in a ridiculous s’more making competition that Viktor had joined despite not being included in the initial challenge, that Yuuri seemed half-ashamed to be part of, but that was entirely worth it for the way Sonia laughed when Yurio ran around in a panic trying to put out a small fire that threatened to consume not only the marshmallow he was roasting but the entire stick he was roasting it on. It was a sharp, almost startled sound, and Sonia looked just as surprised as the rest of them were to hear it. She pulled away from them a little bit more for the rest of the trip, but both Viktor and Yuuri caught her watching them when she thought they weren’t looking.

It was progress, at least, and the two of them were more than happy with that.

* * *

 

“Ugh, they’re making me room with some random kid?!” Yuri asked one night, lying on the couch with his laptop on his chest. “This is some bullshit. I asked for a single room!”

“Can’t you just get an apartment?” Otabek’s voice rang out of his laptop speakers, coming from an open voice call between them. It was evening on the West Coast and early morning in Almaty. Yuri scowled, flicking through the email the school had sent him.

“No, I can’t,” he said. “The school has some stupid first-year residency rule. You can only get out of it if you’re like, old or married or if your parents live within 30 miles. Which mine don’t, and before you ask, neither do these idiots.” He scrolled down through the email, reading off the names. “Mason De Vries. What the hell kind of name is that? I hate him already.”

“You haven’t even met him,” Otabek pointed out, always reasonable.

“I don’t care,” Yuri decided. “I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like anyone.”

“I’m friends with you, aren’t I?” Yuri asked. “Does this guy have a Facebook?”

“Yura…” Otabek began.

“Oh, wow, he does have a Facebook. Ugh, he looks so lame. He’s from Seattle? What, he couldn’t get into the university there?”

“Are you stalking your roommate?”

“Of course I’m stalking my roommate!” said Yuri. “It’s his own fault for not having decent privacy settings.” Yuri scrolled through the pictures, snickering. “Oh my God, Beka, he’s on the chess team.”

“You’re a professional figure skater,” said Otabek flatly.

“Yeah, so what?” said Yuri, “So are you. Look at this dog. What kind of ugly dog is this?”

“I can’t actually see your screen.”

“Ah, right, sorry,” said Yuri, “Sending you the link.”

A knock sounded from the door at the top of the stairs, making Yuri scowl in annoyance. Yuuri Katsuki’s voice rang out a moment later.

“Yurio!” he called. “Come upstairs for a minute.”

“I’m busy! I’m in a call!”

“The assignments are here,” said Yuuri.

“I know they’re here! I’m looking right at them. I’m rooming with some stupid idiot named Mason.”

“Not _those_ assignments!” said Yuuri. “The Grand Prix series assignments!”

Yuri sat up, eyes widening. “Oh, right, those! I’m coming!” He stood up, placing his laptop down on the couch. “One second, Beka, I’ll be right back!” He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and emerged into the hallway, where Yuuri was waiting with his phone. “Where are we going?”

“The Rostelecom Cup,” Yuuri said. “And the Trophee de France.”

“Ugh, we’re going to France?”

Yuuri frowned at him, head tilted to the side. “Pretty sure you’re the only teenager in America who would say it like that.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “What?” he asked. “I was there for the Marseilles final. We got these stupid plastic medals and they messed up the music for my gala.”

“Yurio!” Viktor called from his desk in the living room. “Don’t be like that! You get to go Paris!”

“We always get to go to Paris, Viktor!” Yuri called back. “There’s only six competitions and one of them is _always_ in Paris!”

“Actually, it was in Bordeaux for a couple of years,” Yuuri pointed out.

“No one cares!”

“Oh, hey, Yuuri!” Viktor called out in response, completely ignoring him. “Look where Skate America is this year!”

Yuuri blinked, looking down at his phone. “Oh, wow,” he said. “They’re having it at the Moda Center? That’s practically down the road.”

“Bet you wish you were skating in that event, huh, Yurio?” Viktor asked.

“No!” Yuri said, more out of habit than because he actually disagreed with what Viktor said. He groped for a reason to back-up that answer and was pleasantly surprised when he found one. “It gives me a chance to check out the competition.”

“They had it here eight years ago, apparently,” Yuuri said, flipping through his phone. “That’ll be fun. Oh, hey, I think Phichit might be competing in it. He just sent me a message.”

“That’s great, Yuuri!” Viktor said. “You should invite him over for dinner.”

Yuri took the opportunity to disappear down the stairs before either of them remembered he was standing there. It wasn’t hard. The conversation continued without him.

* * *

 

Later that night, while he was lying in bed, his phone buzzed. Yuri scooped it up, seeing a message from Otabek. He read over it quickly. Otabek texted like he talked—short and to the point.

_‘Talked to coach,’_ the message read. _‘Doing Skate America and Cup of China this year.’_

Yuri smiled, texting back. _‘S.A. is close to where I live. I’ll come watch.’_

He stared at his phone, waiting for Otabek to reply. The message client indicated that he was typing, and then not, and then typing again. Finally, after what felt like forever, the message came up.

_‘K.’_

Yuri rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. His thumbs moved over the screen in quick rhythm, sending three messages one after another. _‘Jerk.’ ‘Seriously?’ ‘That’s all you have to say?’_

A picture appeared on his screen, one of Otabek at the rink, staring straight ahead at the camera with a deadpan expression. He had one of his hands held out, thumb extended in an awkward thumbs-up. Yuri let out a short laugh, putting his phone away.

* * *

 

The summer continued on, July giving way to August. The two of them took the girls back-to-school shopping, an activity that Viktor and Clara enjoyed much more than anyone else in their party. Sonia tagged along awkwardly, occasionally poking at new dresses, shirts, and pants with a vaguely suspicious look as if she thought they were about to rise up off the rack and eat her, and Yuuri tried his best not to give Viktor free reign of the family bank account.

Still, it was nice to see the other two enjoying themselves, even though Clara and Sonia were well on their way to being the most well-supplied first- and third-graders in history. New backpacks, new shoes, new coats, new notebooks and pens, new socks. He managed to talk Viktor out of new lunchboxes—the old ones had been used for all of three months and there was really nothing _wrong_ with them—but trying to snap him out of the allure of designer children’s wear was much more difficult, especially considering that he had discovered an _ally._

_“Sonnniiiiaaaa!”_ Viktor and Clara chorused at one store, identical puppy-dog expressions on their faces as they held up a brightly colored dress that looked roughly the older girl’s size. _“Please?”_

Honestly, it was difficult to remember they weren’t actually related. And it was hard for even Sonia to say no to that. She tried on the dress.

“No more,” Yuuri said, when they sat down outside a mall bubble tea kiosk with their various bags and parcels strewn around them. “I’m serious, Viktor. They don’t need all of this.”

“Of course, of course,” said Viktor, waving his hand in a gesture that made Yuuri suspect he hadn’t heard anything he was saying at all. “Just one more store.”

“Look!” Clara said around a mouthful of tapioca, holding her bubble tea in both hands. “I’m a _monster_!” She grinned, revealing a line of black tapioca pearls pinned between her teeth.

“Wow,” said Viktor, smiling at her.

Yuuri gave up.

* * *

 

A few moments later, Clara had sidled up to Yuuri, pointing at the various Japanese characters written on her bubble tea cup. Somehow, she’d come to realize both that they were words and that he could read them.

“What does this say?” she asked, pointing at a blue character near the top.

“Hmm…it says ‘happy’,” said Yuuri.

“And this?”

“Sunshine.”

“And this?” Clara asked.

“That one’s ‘friend’.”

“What about this one, Dad?”

“Um, that’s just a spiral, sweetie…”

Viktor smiled, looking away from the scene. He turned to face Sonia. The other girl was sipping at her bubble tea with a distracted expression on her face. She had, he noticed, drunk a lot less of it than Clara.

“What’s wrong, Sonechka?” he asked. “You don’t like it?”

Sonia’s eyes widened the way they always did when she wasn’t expecting him to speak to her, and she sat up straight. Her eyes met his and quickly slid away. “It—it’s not that,” she said, and then mumbled, as if embarrassed, “my tooth is loose…”

“Oh!” said Viktor, sitting up. “Why did you say so? We can get you a new one without bubbles—.” He reached for his wallet, already halfway out of his seat.

“No, no!” Sonia said quickly, grabbing at her bubble tea. “This is fine! I’ll just drink it without eating the pearls.” As if to prove her point, she held onto the tea with both hands and placed her mouth on the straw, drinking down a long sip.

“Alright,” Viktor said, slightly disappointed. He sat back down. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” said Sonia.

She stayed silent after that, sipping at her bubble tea.

* * *

 

The girls started school on the last week of August, nearly a month before Yuri was due to start college. This unfortunately did not mean that Clara left him alone, only that she was more eager to come find him when school let out. He was sitting on his couch one day, playing video games while Clara regaled him with some story about her day at the ‘big school’, only half-listening as he moved his character across the screen.

Clara was sitting cross-legged on the couch beside him, petting his cat, which, considering his cat was _usually_ a jerk that wouldn’t let anyone but Yuri touch him, was surprising and was definitely not making him a little jealous. She scratched him behind the ears and he actually _purred,_ the little bastard.

“…There’s this boy in my class who pushes me sometimes,” Clara said. “But Megan’s mom says that just means he likes me.”

Wait, what?

Yuri paused his game.

“What? No. No, Klarik, that is not what that means. That’s just how you learn to let guys push you around. Listen,” he said, “if this boy pushes you again, you push him back, and then you tell him that if he tries that one more time, you will tell your big brother and he will come to the school and beat him up, okay?”

“Are you?” Clara asked, blinking up at him in surprise.

“Am I _what_?”

“Are you my big brother?”

Yuri froze. He wondered if this was what an existential crisis felt like.

“I—um—uh—well, it doesn’t matter!” he said, huffing as he went back to his game. “For the purposes of this story, yes. I will come beat him up if he doesn’t listen to you.”

* * *

 

_“Mama…”_

_The sound of her voice was a plaintive cry, an echo across a field of white. Dimly, she could feel a hand on her head, warm and soft, could hear a voice that came across as if from a distance._

_“Don’t worry, mija. Everything will be okay. I’ll always be here. I’ll never leave you…”_

_“Mama! Mama…”_

_“I’ll never leave you…”_

_“Mama!”_

Sonia’s eyes snapped open, and she woke with a gasp. As always, it took her a moment to remember where she was, why she was lying in this room, and why there were voices outside her door. And then she remembered.

She lay there, breathing deep, listening to the sounds.

_Viktor Nikiforov…_ some part of her brain reminded her. _Yuri Plisetsky. Yuuri Katsuki._

She knew all of their names, saw them every day, but somehow it didn’t feel real. _This_ didn’t feel real. This couldn’t last.

She stared up at the ceiling, trying to chase the last fleeting echoes of a dream. A memory. The sounds from outside wouldn’t let her.

There was something different about the sounds today, something excited. Something was going on, and it took her a while to remember what it was.

Oh, right. September 9. Clara’s birthday.

She drew in a breath then sat up, eyes narrowing in determination as she got out of bed and tried to find her party dress.

* * *

 

For Clara’s sixth birthday, they threw her a party. She’d made enough friends at school and around the neighborhood to have a sizable group of children show up, and she seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. Sonia came outside wearing the dress that Viktor and Clara had picked out for her, which only made Viktor happier.

Viktor had gotten Clara a dollhouse, Yuuri, a plush bear. Yurio, much to their surprise and after warning them repeatedly not to make a big deal out of it, handed her a wrapped present that turned out to be an art kit. Clara had been _ecstatic_ about that one, and had immediately run away from the party to open it so that she could draw him a kitty.

The party went on, and Sonia, Yuuri noted, actually seemed to be making an effort to enjoy herself today. She held herself apart from the other children, but she looked like she was enjoying seeing Clara have so much fun. Yuuri even caught her smiling once or twice. He decided that this would be a good time to pull her aside and talk to her.

It turned out to be the wrong decision.

* * *

 

Sonia’s mother had died on a sunny day in July, and that, Sonia thought, was when her life ended. She still remembered coming to see her mom in the hospital every day, sitting beside her hospital bed, crying, watching her waste away.

When she died, Clara wouldn’t stop crying. She was only two, and didn’t understand what was going on. And their father, who up until their mother’s death had been a loving, gentle man who was always involved in his daughters’ lives, simply wasn’t _there_. Sonia didn’t know how to make Clara stop crying. So she had stopped crying for her. She cried a bit after her mother’s death, and then never again.

Her father left her on a day in winter, only that wasn’t true, because her father had been leaving her for months before that. When he did finally leave, when he locked the door behind him and never looked back, she learned two things.

One, people always leave.

Two, nothing good ever lasts.

She’d only had those two things reinforced in the months and years afterwards, when she and Clara had been passed around from house to house that just—for one reason or another— _didn’t_ want them. She knew how things went. She wasn’t going to let herself want to stay, because it was only going to hurt so much more when she was left behind again.

Good things never lasted and _this_ —this amazing, wonderful thing where she had somehow ended up in Viktor Nikiforov’s _house_ , learning how to skate from Viktor Nikiforov _himself_ —was definitely not going to last. No matter how much she wanted it to.

So when Yuuri Katsuki pulled her away from the party to take her up into the attic, to show her all the medals and memorabilia and admit that he knew that she was a fan, that he’d been a fan of Viktor himself once and that he knew how it felt to have him here, somehow larger than life and painfully human at the same time, to tell her that he understood that she was scared but that, in his words, they had no plans of leaving her and Clara and that the two of them could live here with them forever, she couldn’t help her reaction.  

She ran.

* * *

 

**Viktor Nikiforov** @vnikiforov √

#MoveInDay it’s so hard to see your children leave the nest :’(

**Юрий Пирожки** @yuripirozhki

@vnikiforov STOP TELLING PEOPLE YOU’RE MY DAD.

**Viktor Nikiforov** @vnikiforov √

@yuripirozhki that’s funny. I seem to remember banning you from social media. #blocked

**Viktor Nikiforov** @vnikiforov √

@yuripirozhki Seriously, though, I want the password to that account.

**Jean-Jacques Leroy** @ jjleroy15 √

@yuripirozhki LOL #busted #sorryyuri

**Юрий Пирожки** @yuripirozhki

@vnikiforov ...crap.


	7. Pact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re taking a slight break on the story of the kiddos and dipping into Yurio-ville for the next couple of chapters. The girls will still be featured, so I hope you don’t mind! Thanks again for all your support! Once again, art credits go to LianneSilver927. 
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTE FOR READERS: The songs for Yurio’s programs provided (in AO3) or suggested (on Fanfiction dot net) are meant to be approximate. They are not the actual songs (although the song for his short program is pretty darn close), but they’re what I used to write those scenes and are pretty close to the feelings I was imagining Yurio’s programs would convey. (The song for his short program in particular is probably the same song xD). 
> 
> Yes, I was heavily influenced by Yuzuru Hanyu’s amazing short program at this year’s Grand Prix Final (Marseilles) for Yurio’s short program, as well as his Olympic short program, and I invite you all to look those up and watch it. But please remember that real life figure skaters are not the same as YOI characters, and be respectful of their hard work. Just a quick PSA, and I’m off my soapbox now. Enjoy the chapter!

Some people had bad college roommates.

Mason had heard all the stories. He was the youngest of three, so he’d heard about the roommates that never cleaned, the roommates that came home drunk every night, the roommates that brought girls home with them endlessly. He’d heard about the loud music and the bad hygiene and the people who didn’t seem to respect personal boundaries. Mason’s college roommate didn’t do any of that, but Mason still thought he was up to something shady.

Maybe it was the way his roommate looked, dressed and moved, like he had a problem with the world that could only be solved by a confrontation in a dark alley in the middle of the night. Maybe it was the fact that his roommate refused to talk to him at all, and that when he did address him it was in sharp tones that made Mason worry he was challenging him to a fight. Maybe it was the fact that his roommate left the room at the same time each day and didn’t come home until later that night, sweaty and disheveled, or that he left the dorm each Friday night and returned on Sunday looking more tired than he had been when he left. Or maybe it was the numerous phone conversations in Russian, of which Mason only heard the occasional English phrase, words like “Moscow”, “blades,”, “sharpen,”, or “triple”.

They were supposed to be able to trust their roommates with things. During their student orientation, the R.A. had talked about how it would be a good idea to tell their roommates where they were going, or when they were going to be away, or when it would be a good idea to call the cops if they didn’t come back. Mason had never done that, mostly because he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ his roommate to know where he was or where he was going.

Mostly, Mason didn’t want his roommate to notice him at all, and he thought things were going pretty well on that front. Until one Thursday near the end of the first month of classes when his roommate burst into the room in the middle of the day and started throwing clothes into a duffel bag.

“Hey!” he said, making Mason jump. Mason scooted back against the dorm room wall, letting out a whimper as he looked up at his roommate.

“Y-Yes?”

“I’m going to be gone till late Sunday, maybe early Monday,” his roommate said, in accented English. “Don’t call the police.”

He slammed the door behind him. Mason flinched at the sound.

Some people had bad college roommates. But Mason thought that his was seriously going to kill someone.

He just hoped it wasn’t going to be him.

* * *

 

**_Portland International Airport (PDX)_ **

It had been a long series of flights from Almaty, but it was nothing that Otabek Altin wasn’t used to. He stepped out into the gloom of a Pacific Northwest October, dragging his carry-on behind him as he studied the line of cars. He had his phone out, the address of his hotel saved on it as he looked around for a cab, wondering whether or not he should just try and call an Uber.

Before he could get very far, he heard the loud blast of a car horn, followed quickly by another. He looked over his shoulder.

Yuri was sitting behind the wheel of a car that waited at arrivals, a scowl on his face. He had one hand extended in a wave.

* * *

 

“We can get food at my place,” Yuri said as he parked the car on the street outside of Yuuri and Viktor’s house, having just stopped at Otabek’s hotel so that he could drop off his things and clean up a bit after the flight. It was evening by then, the sun setting behind a curtain of clouds. “The katsudon’s probably cooking something.”

Otabek ‘hmm’ed in response, following him out of the car. Yuri locked the car behind them and ran his fingers over the keychain as he picked out the key to the front door, studying the house. There was a light on in the kitchen, which told him that he was probably right, and the lights were on in the living room. He checked his watch. It would almost be time for dinner. He should have taken Otabek once around the neighborhood, to make sure that he arrived exactly on time so that Yuuri didn’t pressure him into helping.

He slid the key into the lock and opened the door.

Yuri froze at the wave of light and sound that assaulted him as soon as he stepped into the house.

Half the skating world seemed to have been crammed into the Katsuki-Nikiforov living room, standing around talking, laughing, drinking wine. There were appetizers—Japanese, Russian, and some purely Portland concoctions—resting on the coffee table. There was an actual tablecloth on the coffee table—Yuri hadn’t even known that they _owned_ a tablecloth. Viktor was engaged in a conversation with Yakov and Christophe while Sonia stood in the corner in a pale pink dress, holding on to Clara’s hand and looking terrified, and Yuuri was coming out of the kitchen holding a wine bottle and two empty glasses. Someone had put Makkachin in a _tie._

“Yurio!” Yuuri said, drawing the attention of half the party. “There you are! Have something to eat. Dinner will be ready in a minute!”

Yuri stared, not knowing what to say. He twitched, one hand on the doorknob, aware of everyone’s eyes suddenly on him.

“What is this?” he asked. “What the hell is _this_?!”

“A party,” Viktor said, looking perplexed.

“For Skate America,” Yuuri said, looking just as confused. “I mean, if everyone’s here…”

He glanced around at the assembled group—Phichit, Celestino, Mila, Sara, Emil. Michele, for some godforsaken reason, even though Yuri knew for a fact that he wasn’t competing in this competition. Leo. Yakov, who was glaring at him for some reason—Yuri didn’t know what, but he quailed under that glare. Christophe Giacometti.

“You couldn’t have said anything?” Yuri asked, looking back at Yuuri. “You know, before I walked in?”

With Otabek, who had snuck around Yuri while he was standing in the doorway and was now helping himself to appetizers, the same stoic expression on his face. Yuri shot him a glare out of principle.

“Oh, relax, _Yuri_ ,” said Christophe, moving his wine glass in a flamboyant gesture. “Enjoy the party. Too much stress isn’t good for you, you know.”

“What are _you_ even doing here?” Yuri asked, rounding onto Chris. “I thought you retired!”

“I did,” said Christophe, taking a sip of wine. “I’m _commentating_.”

Yuri snorted. “They let you commentate? I’m glad I’m not skating at this event. You’d probably say something dumb about my butt or something.”

“Don’t be silly, Yuri,” said Christophe, fluttering his eyelashes. “You don’t have a butt.”

Yuri clenched his fists.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m out of here. _Beka!_ ” 

He whirled, striding back out the door and into the night.

Otabek took the opportunity to stuff one last gyoza into his mouth before following.

* * *

 

Sonia was going to die.

She was sure of it. Any minute now, she was going to stop breathing, keel over, and die. And probably go to heaven.

She hoped. I mean, it stood to reason.

She stood in her corner of the party, barely daring to breathe as pretty much everyone who was anyone in the skating world walked around the house. From beside her, Clara stared at her, a look of confusion on her face.

“Sonia?” Clara asked, but Sonia barely heard her.

She was going to die.

She was only more convinced of this when Viktor spotted her, and seemed to feel the need to introduce her to _everyone_ , nudging her every now and then to ask her if she knew them.

“What about him, Sonechka? Do you know who this is?”

“Ch-Christophe Giacometti,” Sonia said, holding on to Viktor’s hand. He smiled at her as Christophe waved.

“And this?” he asked, gesturing at someone else.

“P-P-Phichit Chulanont.”

Phichit gave her a wide smile from where he was standing next to Yuuri and Celestino.

“And what about this lady?” Viktor asked.

“Mila…” Sonia’s voice came out as a squeak, “…Mila Babicheva.”

“And this young man?” Viktor asked, indicating the man next to him.

Sonia was going to die. She couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone was stepping on her chest. She was going faint.

“L-Leo de la Iglesia…”

“Hi there,” said Leo, holding his hand up.

“And who is this?” Viktor asked. Sonia’s mouth had formed the first syllable of the word ‘Yakov Feldsman’ before Viktor seemed to notice that something was wrong with her. He turned towards her, eyes wide with sudden concern. “Sonechka? Are you okay, Sonechka?”

His voice sounded like it was coming from the end of a tunnel. She swayed. He squeezed her hand, bending down to catch her.

He—Viktor Nikiforov—was _holding her hand._

_Goodbye, world_ , she thought, closing her eyes as everyone in the room, all of them famous skaters or coaches, crowded in on her. _It was a nice run. Mama, I’m coming to see you soon._

“Is she okay?” Mila asked, sounding concerned.

“Is it anemia?” asked Yuuri.

“Does anyone have a fan?” Phichit asked. “It might be too warm in here!”

“Vitya, what have you been doing?!” demanded Yakov’s gruff voice. “You are clearly not feeding that child enough!”

“I have some chocolate,” said Christophe. “That always helps!”

“Here, put her in my lap,” said Sara. “Poor little _bambina…”_

“You need to raise her legs,” said Leo.

“And make sure she can breathe,” Celestino added. “Is her dress too tight?”

“Sonechka?” Viktor asked, sounding concerned. His voice was fading. “Sonechka…come back to me…”

* * *

 

If there was one thing Yuri Plisetsky hated, it was American drinking laws.

It made no sense, considering he was of age pretty much everywhere else in the world (except for Japan, but whatever), but because Yuuri and Viktor decided that they wanted to live _here_ , he had to settle for taking his best friend out for lame hipster-y sodas and food truck pirozhkis that were actually not bad—aside from the fact that they were made by some college dropout who had spent a month in Russia while backpacking through Europe to _find himself_.

He imagined this was even worse for Otabek, who was actually only a little over a week from turning twenty-one, but Otabek hardly ever complained about anything, so Yuri thought he was entitled to complain enough for both of them.

The two of them were seated at what was locally referred to as a ‘beer garden’, a collection of picnic tables in the center of one of Portland’s food truck pods where Americans were allowed to sit down and drink alcohol (since the country was also incredibly anal about not letting people walk around and drink wherever the hell they wanted). It was actually a nice night to be having dinner outside. Although it had been cloudy all day, it hadn’t actually rained, and it was warm enough that Yuri, who was acclimatized to Russia, barely had to wear a light jacket. They’d been talking for a while.

Well, Yuri talked.

Otabek more or less listened and nodded where appropriate, which was par for the course.

“Ready for tomorrow?” Yuri asked, taking a sip of his soda.

Otabek frowned, considering the question carefully. “I think so.”

“Good,” Yuri said. “You better win. I want to see you at the Grand Prix Final when I finally beat the smirk off J.J.’s stupid face.”

Otabek hesitated. The hesitation, so different from his usual silences, made Yuri look up.

“What?” he asked.

“I…” Otabek paused, fell silent. Yuri didn’t say anything, waiting for Otabek to collect his words. “I want to win,” he finally said. “This year, at the Final. I want to win. I know that you also want to win, and I know that you hate losing, so I’m sorry. But I’m going to be trying my best to win too.”

It went quiet. Otabek looked down, as if embarrassed. Yuri scowled, grabbing at his soda. He propped his head up on his hand, turning his face away from his friend as he spoke.

“It’s—it’s not that I hate losing,” he said.

“What?” Otabek asked, which was fair, because anyone who knew Yuri knew that he hated to lose.

Yuri grit his teeth, feeling warmth rush over his face. “I wouldn’t mind losing to you…” he said, the words coming out all in a rush. It was stupid and sappy and he felt the need to say something cutting to make up for it. “It’s just J.J. I hate losing to! The stupid jerk!”

Otabek didn’t say anything. Yuri sighed, sitting up straight. He looked over at his friend.

“Look,” he said. “Let’s make a pact. The silver and gold stay at this table.” He gestured at the space between them. “J.J. gets bronze or worse. Deal?”

Otabek held his gaze for a long moment before nodding. “I can drink to that,” he said, holding up his cup. “Cheers.”

Yuri raised his cup as well, touching it to Otabek’s. “Cheers.”

They drew their cups back, both of them taking sips. Of soda. Yuri blinked, staring down at this cup.

“This really doesn’t work…” he said.

“No,” Otabek agreed, looking down at his cup with the same expression. “It doesn’t.”

* * *

 

Apparently, as Yuuri and Viktor found out in the time leading up to the Rostelecom Cup, it wasn’t a simple matter to take foster kids out of the country, even with the adoption being processed. Their caseworker was sympathetic and willing to work with them, but boundaries needed to be set. Canada at the end of the year was feasible, Russia and France in the same month was too much. Leaving the kids at home also wasn’t a simple matter of finding a babysitter—apparently, you couldn’t leave your foster kids with just anyone off the street. And since neither of them were willing to have the girls watched over by the state, even if it was just for a weekend, that meant that sacrifices needed to be made. Yuuri needed to stay behind. Telling Yurio that, however, proved to not be as simple as it should have been.

“Wait, you’re leaving me alone with Viktor?” Yurio asked the weekend before the trip to Moscow, while he was standing in his basement room trying to decide which of his winter coats he wanted to bring.

“You…wanted me to come?” Yuuri asked, frowning at Yurio in surprise.

Yurio’s eyes widened and he looked away. “No!” he said, sharply. “I don’t need either of you there! I could skate even by myself!”

Yuuri stared at him, taking in his defensive posture, the way he wasn’t looking straight at him. He walked up to Yurio, his expression serious as he placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder.

Yurio turned to face him, giving him a death glare. “If you hug me, we’re done,” he warned.

Yuuri settled for clapping him on the shoulder twice. “Good luck.”

* * *

 

Moscow hadn’t really changed since the last time he had seen it, and the rink was still the same, a flat field of ice that waited in front of him, lit by bright lights and surrounded by a crowd. Yuri wasn’t the first skater out, but he wasn’t the last either, and as he waited on the sidelines, hands tucked into the pockets of his Team Russia jacket, he told himself he wasn’t nervous.

He had never been nervous to skate. Well, alright, that wasn’t _precisely_ true, but he had no reason to be nervous. He was a record setter, the current European champion, one of the best skaters in the world. And he was in his own territory. Moscow was his city, and the crowd that filled the seats was predisposed to calling his name.

Sure, he’d fallen flat on his face in Nagoya in front of Yuuri’s entire family and pretty much everyone he ever cared about and sure there were still videos of that on the internet and sure he hadn’t managed to win at Worlds and sure he had collected a hell of a lot of bronze and silver medals for someone who people were calling the second coming of Viktor Nikiforov, but hey, that was no reason to be nervous.

Who was nervous? Not him. Nope, not at all.

He just wished Viktor would get off his damn phone and act like a coach for once, that was all.

As if reading his thoughts, Viktor turned to him, holding his phone out. “For you,” he said.

Yuri took it, frowning in confusion. “For me?”

“A good luck call,” Viktor said, smiling cryptically. “From your other coach.”

Right. His other coach. Yuri put the phone to his ear, doing his best to act like he wasn’t secretly relieved. “What do you want, katsudon? I’m busy.”

“Just calling to wish you luck,” Yuuri said. “You have two little fans here who want to wish you luck as well.”

“Davai!” Clara shouted as he passed the phone to her. “Davai, Yura!”

Yuri blinked in surprise. Wasn’t it like, four in the morning in Portland? 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed, pipsqueak?” he asked.

“Dad said we could watch!” said Clara, brightly. “We went to bed extra early so we could get up for this! Are you at the rink already?”

Yuri looked around, taking in the rink, the fans, the other skater—whatever the hell his name was. He looked over at Viktor, who was smiling, then turned away from the rink so he could focus on the phone call. “Yeah, I’m at the rink.”

“Oh, good,” said Clara. “Sonia wants to say hi too!”

He could hear Sonia protest as Clara shoved the phone into her hands. “Wait—Clara—uh—,” Her voice went soft and shy, “—uh—is this Yuri?”

“Yeah,” Yuri said, looking back out at the rink. He had a little bit more time. He heard Sonia take a slow breath on the other end of the line. When she spoke, he had to strain to hear it over the music and the sounds of the crowd.

“Um…good luck,” she said. “Your program is really good, so you’ll be okay.”

“Thanks, kid,” Yuri said.

“Here’s Yuuri,” Sonia said, handing the phone back.

“So,” Yuuri said into the phone. “You think you’re ready?”

Yuri breathed deep and felt the nerves settle. He closed his eyes, opened them again. “You better make sure those kids watch the whole thing, katsudon,” he said. “I’m going to win.”

He handed the phone back to Viktor, turning to face the rink. It was almost his turn.

“You can do this,” Viktor said, reaching forward to take his jacket. Yuri slipped his arms out of the sleeves, nodding.

“It’s the start of the season,” he reminded Viktor, “I can get the password to my social media accounts back now, right?”

“Sure,” said Viktor. “It’s ‘I will find better ways to express my feelings’. Period.”

Yuri blinked, looking back at him as he removed his guards. “Really?” he asked. “Because I tried pretty much every spelling of ‘Yuuri Katsuki’.”

Viktor sniffed, swatting him lightly on the back of the head.

“Get out there,” he said, opening the door of the rink.

Yuri drew in a breath and went.

* * *

 

**_[(Suggested Song: 0:00 - 2:45)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UmX5G8G3EN4) _ **

_“Representing Russia!”_ the commentator said, _“Yuri Plisetsky!”_

Viktor watched as Yurio skated out to the center of the rink to the sound of tumultuous applause and the sound of people cheering his name. A handful of girls from the ever-present contingent of Yurio’s fanclub screamed and whistled at his costume, which was made to resemble formal attire—a suit vest, a long-sleeved shirt. Gloves. A tie. He counted off the seconds in his head to the start of the program.

The music started playing, the opening chords of a rock song. A portion of the crowd cheered as Yurio launched into a program that was energetic almost from the start, with jumps that drew rounds of applause from the audience.

_Yurio always does well in Russia,_ Viktor thought, watching him as he circled the rink, playing up the crowd like Viktor had taught him. He didn’t know if the younger skater understood it himself, but the crowd had an effect on him. In Russia, people loved him. They _wanted_ him to win, and that sort of energy flowed onto the rink.

It was the same for other skaters as well. It had been like that for Yuuri in Japan, for Leo in America (despite his loss to Otabek this year, who Viktor suspected was working with a different sort of motivation). It would _be_ like that for J.J. in Canada, during the Vancouver Grand Prix Final. And J.J., more than many skaters, fed off the attention of the crowd. He took that energy and multiplied it, translating it into his program and his technique. If Yurio wanted to beat J.J. in his home country, he would need to start there. He would need to find a way to change the crowd.

He would also need to find his feet again. Yurio had always been good at technical elements, but the last couple of years had been difficult for him and Viktor understood why. His body had been changing, growing taller, bulkier, less flexible. He couldn’t do the same things he had done at the start of his senior career, couldn’t skate the same way, and he didn’t know how to compensate for it. It led to mistakes—uncharacteristic mistakes like his fall in Nagoya. And mistakes were demoralizing. You didn’t have to have Yuuri’s level of anxiety to feel shaken up and uncertain by mistakes and Yurio, for all his posturing, wasn’t immune to uncertainty and fear.

Viktor had been through the same thing once.

The thing about Yurio, Viktor thought, watching as the younger skater started trying to engage the audience, trying to bring them in the way Viktor had been painstakingly teaching him over the past seven months, was that he had no idea how good he had it. He had a strong group of adoring fans that persisted despite all of his attempts to ignore them. That was more powerful than Yurio knew. A power like that could be harnessed, especially if you occasionally gave the fans exactly what they wanted.

Yurio had always been a technician, but when it came to understanding the performance aspect of figure skating, Yuuri was better off. He tried, but it was hard for him to grasp that there was so much more to skating than just landing the perfect jump or nailing his step sequences.

It was affecting him, though. The crowd was cheering louder and louder, buoyed by the excitement and energy that both Yurio and his fans were bringing to the performance, and Yurio was responding in kind. Whereas he had started out looking stiff and uncomfortable, he was now engaging the crowd almost naturally, adding more power and grace to his movements.

Looking at him, Viktor almost— _almost_ —saw the skater he had seen at the Barcelona Grand Prix Finals. The one who had broken his record.

Now it was time to see if Yurio could learn to see that too.

* * *

 

Realization sometimes hits all at once.

Like a lightbulb, going off in a dark room. Once, you were unaware of something, and then suddenly you were aware. Once, you didn’t understand, and then suddenly you did.

For the residents of one dorm building at a certain university in central Oregon, realization came as a cascade. It started in the early hours of a Saturday, before the sun came up, at a time when any self-respecting college student was either still asleep or just going to sleep. It started with one person, one solitary young woman sitting in her darkened dorm room, watching the Rostelecom Cup livestream on her laptop while she tried not to wake her roommate up.

She failed.

“Oh my God!” she screamed, when realization hit her.

The light to her dorm room went on.

That one instant was followed by the sound of pounding feet as she ran down the hall, the sound of the opening and closing of doors. Soon, more people were out in the halls, more lights going on in windows, more doors opening and closing. Conversation filled the building, a steady rush, and before long the entire dorm was awake.

So when Mason heard a knock on his door at close to five-thirty in the morning and opened it, bleary-eyed, he was surprised to find what seemed like a small army all crammed into the hallway outside, peering at him curiously.

“What?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes. “What’s going on?”

The girl with the laptop was standing in front of him, her eyes wide. “Is your roommate _Yuri Plisetsky_?” she demanded.

“Yes?” Mason’s eyes widened, and he straightened up. “Why? What did he do? Is he in trouble?”

“Did you know he was a _professional figure skater_?!” the girl asked, her voice reaching a fever pitch.

“What?” Mason asked.

“He set a world record! He was in the _Olympics_!”

_“WHAT?”_

“How could you not know?! You’ve been living with him for a month!”

“No,” said Mason, shaking his head. “No, no, you have to be talking about someone else! There’s no way that—.”

Before he could finish the sentence, the girl turned her laptop around, showing Mason the video of the stream. Mason froze, his protest dying on his lips. It was impossible, and yet, there was the evidence. He had a scientific mind. He believed in evidence.

Still…

…what the hell?!

* * *

 

**Yuri+angels10**

**8,687 likes** 3h

**Yuri+angels10** AAHHHHHHHHHH! #Rostelecom2k18 #ShortProgram #YUROCHKA @yuri-plisetsky

**alissa.loveheart** OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

**silverbane409** I LOVE HIM!!!!!

**aya+yandere** We are so #BLESSED

**iceprinces33** Viktor Nikiforov is a god I swear

**x_bubbletea_x** is this real? I haven’t seen it yet

**iloveyurochka** thank you thank you thank you vitya i don’t know what you did to make this happen but thank you omg #swoon #icantbreathe

**sk8ter_girl** holy shit

**v-nikiforov** Thank you all so much for supporting Yurochka! Hope to see you at the free program tomorrow and again at #TropheedeFrance ~

**Yurochkas_Kitty_Cat** @v-nikiforov I’m already booking my ticket! I’m so there!


	8. Shatter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 12 left me with a lot of feelings. I’m really happy for everyone and looking forward to the second season. I’m hoping that I set this story far enough ahead that it’s still canon compliant, although since I’ve had Yuuri retire without fulfilling his promise to win five more times, I tagged it as ‘mild canon divergence’ to be safe. Still planning on continuing this fic, and thanks for all of your support!

_“The score for Yuri Plisetsky is 111.10. He is currently in first place!”_

The crowd cheered as Yuri stared at the screen in the kiss and cry, eyes wide in disbelief as he looked at his score. He was breathless from the performance, his heart pounding in his chest, sweat plastering his blond hair to the side of his face. Viktor placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled, waving at the cameras as the crowd continued chanting his name.

* * *

 

He finished the first half of the Rostelecom Cup in first place, leading the second-place skater by almost fifteen points. The announcement of the scores was followed by a whirlwind of interviews with reporters, of hurried conversations in English and in Russian. Viktor’s hand was firm on his shoulder, guiding him along the rink’s inner corridors. Yuri’s mind was buzzing with the adrenaline of his performance, although he could hardly remember any of it. It had been a blur of lights and sounds after the roar of the crowd filled his ears.

He wasn’t accustomed to being surprised by success, but he was still reeling from it this time.

“That worked?” he asked, glancing sidelong at Viktor as they neared the exit, as the reporters and their flashing lights and their incessant questions finally parted to allow them to pass. “How the hell did that work?”

Viktor’s smile was cryptic as he let his hand fall away from Yuri’s shoulder, stopping in front of the doors. Instead of answering the question, he let the bag he was carrying slide off his shoulder, handing it to Yuri. Yuri blinked, opening it. Inside, he found several printed photos of himself and a handful of felt tip pens. He inclined his head towards the exit doors and Yuri was aware of the buzz of a crowd waiting for him outside, the sound of several female voices all talking in unison.

“You’re going to go out there and be nice to your fans,” Viktor told him. “You’re going to give them autographs and pose for pictures. You’re not going to say anything mean or hurtful, and you’re going to encourage them to come see you at future events.”

Yuri stared up at him in mute surprise, surprise giving way to anger as his words sank in. He scowled. “What the hell is that going to accomplish?” he asked.

“You asked how your short program worked today,” Viktor said. “It worked because you have people supporting you. And you’re going to need their support if you want to beat J.J. in Canada.”

“Are you telling me,” Yuri asked, “that that entire program was—what— _fanservice_?” 

“And if it was?” Viktor asked. He leaned in, his smile taking on the slightly bitter edge of a smirk as he met Yuri’s eyes. “I’m going to teach you something Yakov never could, Yurio—how to play up a fan base.”

Yuri felt a chill run through him in spite of himself. He wondered if Yuuri ever noticed how scary Viktor could be.

Viktor smiled as if he considered the conversation settled, stepping back and clapping Yurio once on the shoulder.

“I’ll be back to get you in twenty minutes,” he said. “Have fun.” 

* * *

 

“You did not come to get me,” Yuri growled, standing in front of Viktor’s hotel room door more than an hour later.

He held the door open with one hand, leaning his weight on it as he kept it pinned to the opposite wall. His hair was disheveled, his Russia jacket slightly askew as if someone had been pulling on it, and one of his white gloves was missing. If it hadn’t been for the timely arrival of his grandfather, Yuri wasn’t sure he would have gotten away at all. And Viktor had the gall to blink innocently at him from the other side of the doorframe, hair mussed from sleep. In one hand, he held a glass of wine.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Yurio!” he said, eyes wide. “I forgot! I ran into some old competitors and we ended up talking and I lost track of time! You’re not too upset, are you? You’re supposed to be focusing on tender feelings for your free skate tomorrow.”

“I’ll show you _tender feelings_!” Yuri screamed, slamming the door shut in Viktor’s face. He stomped off to his own room. 

* * *

 

His free program left a little to be desired, but given the lead he had gained in his short program, his winning the Rostelecom Cup’s gold medal was practically a foregone conclusion. Yuri stuffed the medal into his bag after taking a few pictures of it for the social media channels that he was now allowed access to again, then indulged in some select complaining to Otabek and to Yuuri about Viktor’s behavior before hopping on the long flight back to the States.

He stumbled into his college dorm room late on Monday night, jetlagged, sore and irritable, and was surprised to find several people all crowded into the small room with Mason, watching his routines on Yuri’s TV.

They jumped up as soon as they saw him, bombarding him with questions. Yuri waved off most of them with unintelligible grumbles, collapsing face first onto his bed. Mason displayed a level of situational awareness that Yuri would not have credited him with before and got to his feet, ushering everyone else out the door. When he returned a few minutes later with a bottle of water and a steaming cup of instant ramen, Yuri was forced to consider that the kid might not have been as bad as he thought. He groaned, sitting up and reaching for the cup as Mason took a seat awkwardly at the edge of his own bed.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mason asked as Yuri peeled back the lid of the cup, reaching for a fork.

Yuri paused, looking up at Mason. “About what?” he asked.

“You know what I mean,” said Mason, gesturing at the TV, where a video of Yuri’s gold-medal winning free program from Barcelona was still paused, at his laptop where his Wikipedia page was open. “About all of _this_! Why didn’t you tell me you were like, a _celebrity_?”

Yuri shrugged, taking a sip of broth. “You didn’t ask.”

_“They sell posters of you on Amazon!”_

“You didn’t look all of this up before class started?” Yuri asked.

“No, because I didn’t expect my college roommate would have a freaking _fan club_!” Mason said. “I mean, seriously? _Yuri Angels_? _Seriously_?!”

Yuri’s face wrinkled up in distaste. “Ugh,” he said. “Don’t remind me.”

Mason lapsed into awkward silence, staring down at his hands. Yuri took a bite of ramen, trying not to think about the pile of homework that would be waiting for him in the morning when he woke up.

“So this is you?” Mason asked after a while, looking up at him. “This is what you do? You travel all over the world, going to competitions, winning medals, getting followed around by crazed fangirls?”

“Yeah,” said Yuri. “Pretty much.”

“Huh,” said Mason. “What’s your favorite place to travel to? Besides Russia, of course.”

He thought of Hasetsu and onsens and pork cutlet bowls. “Probably Japan,” he said. “Went to Kazakhstan once to visit a friend. That was fun. Spain and Italy aren’t bad. France is overrated.”

“Wow,” said Mason, his expression growing far-off like he was trying to imagine it. “How’d you end up in Oregon?”

“Coaches,” said Yuri. “They decided to get married, move the whole rink overseas. I went with them.”

“Those guys that helped you move in were your coaches?” Mason asked. “I thought they were your parents.”

Yuri snorted. “They wish.”

Mason frowned, thought about it a little more.

“So you’ve got all of that going on,” he said, “and you still have to go to college?”

“Yeah,” said Yuri. “Pretty much.”

“Ah,” said Mason. “Sucks.”

Yuri thought of the homework waiting for him, shuddering. “Tell me about it.”

“Hey,” Mason said a moment later, when Yuri was halfway through the bottle of water and contemplating going to bed. “I noticed you having trouble with that Math 105 class.” At Yuri’s sudden glance, Mason went tense. “Uh—I overheard you swearing at your homework.”

“What about it?” Yuri asked, defensive.

“Well, I AP’ed out of that class,” Mason said. “So—you know, if you need any help…”

* * *

 

“Yurio seems to be enjoying college more,” Viktor said one Sunday afternoon, shortly after Yurio’s car pulled out of the driveway.

Yuuri looked up from where he was getting ready to make tea, filling the teapot his parents had given them with hot water.

“What makes you think that?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at Viktor.

“He’s not as reluctant to go back as he used to be,” Viktor pointed out, inclining his head towards the door. “And he doesn’t look so angry when I come to see him there either.”

“Huh,” said Yuuri, letting the tea steep and setting the pot aside on the countertop. “Maybe he’s making friends.”

“Maybe,” said Viktor. “It would be nice if he was.”

Yuuri ‘hmm’ed in response, starting on the dishes while he waited for the tea. The house was quiet with Yurio gone and Sonia holed up in her room, working on a school project. He let himself sink into the familiar task while Viktor messed around on his phone from the kitchen table behind him.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said after a while, “I’ve been thinking…”

Yuuri looked up, shutting off the tap. “Yes?” he asked.

“You’ve been spending all of your time with the girls,” Viktor said. “Don’t you need a break?”

Yuuri frowned as he thought about it, wiping his hands off on the kitchen towel. “No,” he said. “Not really. I don’t mind doing it. They’re good kids.”

“But this should be a partnership,” said Viktor. “And it’s not fair that I get to travel all over the world while you’re stuck at home. How about you take Yurio to Trophee de France? I’ll look after the girls for a weekend.”

Yuuri’s eyes wandered toward the kitchen calendar, where the Trophee de France weekend was blocked off. He looked back at Viktor. “This better not be some plot to get me out of the house so that you can plan my birthday.”

The look Viktor gave him was the definition of innocence, which meant that Yuuri didn’t trust it. “Yuuri, love, would I do that to you?”

“I mean it, Viktor,” Yuuri said, “I don’t need an extravagant birthday present.”

“Of course, of course,” said Viktor with a dismissive wave. “So?”

“So?” Yuuri repeated.

“You and Yurio,” said Viktor. “Trophee de France?”

Yuuri thought about it. On the one hand, it wasn’t that he particularly _needed_ to go to France, but on the other hand, it would be nice to get away from Oregon for a little bit. Go sightseeing, maybe do some gift buying of his own. And from the frantic phone calls he had gotten from Russia, he was fairly sure Yurio was going to stage a revolution if Viktor left him alone with his fan club one more time.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not? I’ll go to France.”

Viktor’s expression brightened, and he picked up his phone. “Excellent!” he said. “I’ll book tickets for you and Yurio right now.”

“Thank you,” said Yuuri, turning around to face the sink. He reached for the tap and paused, drawing in a breath as he looked back at Viktor. “Viktor, I’ve also been thinking.”

“Hmm?” Viktor asked.

“I don’t want to ruin your birthday, but…I was wondering if you might want to do Christmas this year,” said Yuuri. “For—you know—the girls? But I’d understand if you’d rather have a birthday party instead. I—.”

“Yuuri!” Viktor said, springing out of his chair with enough speed to startle him. “That’s a _fantastic_ idea!”

Yuuri blinked at him. “It is?”

“Yes!” said Viktor. “I’d almost forgotten—I need to start Christmas shopping right away!” He glanced at the calendar, placing a hand to his forehead. “It’s mid-November already? What have I been doing this whole time?”

“Viktor…” Yuuri began.

“I know, I know,” said Viktor. “Nothing too extravagant. I know just the thing! Do you think I’d make a good Santa? We can dress Yurio up as an elf.”  

Yuuri’s mind provided him with a picture of Yurio—as he was now, all anger and long limbs—dressed up in an elf suit. He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “What are you saying?” Yuuri asked. “He’ll kill you.”

“He’ll try,” said Viktor, already tapping away at his phone. “We can dress Makkachin up as a reindeer! It will be so cute! And we’ll need to get a tree, and—.”

“Papa…?” a quiet voice asked.

Clara walked into the kitchen. Viktor immediately sat back down in his seat and Yuuri spun around to face the sink, trying to look busy.

“Yes, Klaroshka?” Viktor asked.

“Are you done with your work already?” Clara asked. “You said you were going to play tea party with me.”

“Oh, Klaroshka, I forgot,” Viktor said, getting to his feet. “I’m so sorry. Of course I’ll come with you to the tea party.”

He held out his hand to the little girl, letting her lead him out of the room.

“Can you speak Russian?” Yuuri heard Clara ask. “Because the ballerina you gave me only speaks Russian. Totoro speaks Japanese though…”

Yuuri smiled as Clara led Viktor away, going back to the dishes. He was about to start when Sonia appeared in the kitchen doorframe, a tray in her hands. He offered her a smile. “All finished with your project?” he asked.

Sonia nodded, dragging a chair over to the kitchen counter. Yuuri frowned at her as she started to climb it, shifting the tray over to one hand. “Sonia-chan, how about you let me put that away…” he began.

“No, it’s okay,” said Sonia, not looking at him. She wobbled a bit on top of the chair before she recovered her balance, stepping from the top of the chair to the countertop. “I’ve got it.”

“Sonia-chan—,” Yuuri began, reaching for her.

Sonia ignored him, raising herself to her tiptoes as she reached for the highest cupboard.

Yuuri saw what happened next as if it was in slow motion. First, Sonia’s feet, clad in a pair of pink striped socks because of the November chill, slipped on the polished countertop. Then, she started to fall backwards, letting out a shout of surprise as her arms wheeled in the air. He reached for her, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her steady, and her foot snagged the teapot on the way down, knocking it off the counter.

Yuuri remembered being given that teapot. It had been part of a set that his parents had gifted him on the day of his and Viktor’s wedding. It wasn’t the grandest, most expensive gift that they had received, but it meant something to him. It meant something because in the days and weeks he had spent in Hasetsu preparing for the wedding, he had been afraid. Viktor was a man, and foreign besides, and despite the fact that he knew his parents liked Viktor, he had been very worried that he was secretly disappointing them. His parents were still slightly-traditional older Japanese people, and he worried that they had been holding out hope that he would find some nice Japanese girl someday, carry on the Katsuki family name. But the tea set, bought with money that he knew his parents must have scrimped and saved for, put an end to those anxieties. It was a promise unspoken between him and his family. _We don’t care, Yuuri,_ it seemed to say. _As long as you’re happy, we’re happy._

The teapot completed an arc in the air and crashed to the ground.

There was a moment of silence in the kitchen after the crash, then Yuuri felt Sonia stiffen in his arms.

“Oh my God…” she muttered, her voice coming out in a whimper. “Oh my God…”

Before Yuuri could react, she slipped out of his grip, sliding off of the counter and standing in front of the mess on the floor. Her eyes were wide, her hands shaking. She reached for the shards of ceramic with those shaky hands, pulling them out of the spreading puddle of boiling hot tea. Yuuri felt like he was floating.

“I’m so sorry—.” Sonia breathed, letting out a hiss as she burned her fingers. She kept pulling at the shards, trying to salvage them. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri. I’m so sorry—.”

“Sonia-chan…” Yuuri mumbled, the words soft under his breath.

“I’m so sorry—,” Sonia said, keeping up her mantra. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry—.”

_“Sonia!”_

The word came out sharp, much sharper than he intended—Yuuri hadn’t realized his hands were clenched into fists until he spoke. Sonia looked up at him, her eyes wide, the tips of her fingers burned. There were tears in her eyes, although they didn’t fall down her cheeks. She was so still that he wasn’t sure whether or not she was breathing.

Emotions warred inside him. Anger, regret, sadness, disgust with himself. He managed to wrestle the anger down at least, looking into her eyes.

“Stop,” he said. “We still love you. It’s alright. Stop.”

Sonia shook her head, her breath coming out as a rattle. Yuuri stared down at the ruins of the teapot, then back at her. She looked so helpless crouching there, the puddle of tea spreading until it brushed the toes of her socks.

“You want to help?” he asked.

She nodded, still looking at him like a deer in the headlights.

“Get a mop.”

Sonia leaped to her feet and ran.

* * *

 

“Alright,” Viktor said, his voice soft as he spoke into his phone. “Alright—I’ll take care of it. Thank you. Yes, yes. I’ll tell him. Thank you again.”

He hung up, stepping into the bedroom. Yuuri ignored him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his face turned towards the wall, arms wrapped around one of the pillows.

“That was Mari,” Viktor said, and Yuuri heard him close the bedroom door. “She says she knows someone who can repair the teapot. I’m sending her the pieces tomorrow.”

“I don’t care about the teapot,” Yuuri mumbled.

It was a blatant lie, and he knew that Viktor knew that. But he also couldn’t shake the memory of Sonia’s face when she realized what she had done, the way that he shouted at her without thinking. He couldn’t shake the fact that he was _still_ angry—because if she had just _listened to him,_ none of this would have happened—but neither could he stop hating himself for his reaction. It was just a teapot, and he had yelled at her. And worse, he _still_ wanted to yell at her.

What kind of parent was he?

“Yuuri, love,” Viktor said, climbing onto the bed and wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. Yuuri resisted the urge to pull out of his grasp. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I was so hard on her,” Yuuri said, tightening his grip on the pillow. “And now she probably thinks I hate her.”

“Sonechka doesn’t think that—,” Viktor said, and Yuuri scowled, whirling around to face him.

“Yes, she does!” he said. “She’s felt like we’ve hated her since she walked into this house, and I just made it worse! I don’t know what to do anymore, Viktor!”

Viktor tugged him down gently and Yuuri went with him, feeling drained after the outburst. He let Viktor push him over so that he was lying on the bed, let Viktor take the pillow out of his hands. Yuuri stared up at the ceiling as Viktor put the pillow away, his eyes wide, hands grasping at nothing.

“I don’t know what I can do to make Sonia feel like part of this family,” he muttered, half to himself.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Viktor said, settling into the bed beside him, resting his head on Yuuri’s shoulder. “When I was Sonia’s age, I didn’t think I’d have this either.”

The words were strange enough to shake him out of his depression. Yuuri blinked. “Have what?” he asked.

Viktor closed his eyes, mumbling the word into the crook of Yuuri’s shoulder. “Family.”

Yuuri stared up at the ceiling and wondered, not for the first time, if the people in his life would _please_ stop making him cry so much.

* * *


	9. Support

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to all who celebrate it, and to all who don’t, hope you had a great holiday anyway! 
> 
> Note that the song suggested in this chapter can be found in its entirety on YouTube (which I linked to for AO3 readers), but is a little hard to find because most of the YouTube versions are the cut versions from a video game. It can also be found on Spotify in its entirety. 
> 
> Why the hell did I decide it would be a good idea to put Yuri and Yuuri in the same scene and then write it from Yuri’s POV? My head hurts @_@.

The trip to Paris for Trophee de France started with a short flight to San Francisco, which, given that it was late November, was a nightmare of hellish proportions. Once they were on their plane to Paris (business class, because what was the point of being a record-breaking practically world champion if you had to fly _coach_ ), things started to settle down. Yuri sank back into his seat with his phone in one hand, an earbud in his ear as he tried to find something good to listen to.

Beside him, Yuuri Katsuki stared out the window with both of his hands pressed against the airplane wall, not saying much. Yuri paused in his search for good music to look over at the other man. The Japanese Yuuri had the sort of anxious look on his face that Yuri recognized, and the dark cloud that hung around him was worryingly catching. Yuri leaned as far away from Yuuri as he could in the airplane seats because he could _not_ afford a case of the nerves right now.

“Hey, katsudon, I’m the one competing, remember? If anyone needs to be anxious, it’s me.”

Yuuri turned slowly to look at him and his expression was even worse than the cloud hanging around him. Yuri wondered what on earth _he_ could be so worried about.

“I just left Viktor alone with the children,” Yuuri said.

Yeah, that would do it.

“Oh…” Yuri said, understanding. He looked away from Yuuri, going back to messing with his phone. Yuuri went back to staring nervously out of the window. He was making Yuri tense, but it really wasn’t _his_ job to comfort his coach.

Except he knew the katsudon well enough to know that if they didn’t fix this soon, Yuuri would be useless in Paris as a coach. Yuri sighed, trying to think calming thoughts.

“Look,” he said. “It won’t be that bad. Viktor’s a grown man—he kept Makkachin alive for years before you showed up. The worst that’ll happen is they’ll stay up way too late, spend a little too much money and eat unhealthy food. It’s not going to _kill_ them.”

Yuuri blinked at him, as if surprised that the words were coming out of his mouth. Fair enough, Yuri sometimes surprised even himself.

“Yeah…” Yuuri said after a while, letting out a breath. “Yeah, you’re right, Yurio. It’s going to be okay.”

He turned away from the window, sinking back into his seat. Yuri didn’t know what possessed him to keep talking, but for some reason he said, “I mean, you know, as long as Viktor doesn’t try to cook again. You remember the last time, when the fire department showed up?”

Yuuri sat bolt upright, eyes wide.

Sometimes, Yuri really _hated_ his big mouth.

* * *

 

Yuuri was going to call him.

He’d been very good about not bothering Viktor and the girls too much and focusing on Yurio, but enough was enough. He was looking down at his Instagram at a picture posted by Viktor that showed him, Sonia and Clara seated on the couch with Makkachin at an ungodly hour of the morning with entirely too much ice cream on the coffee table in front of them. The three of them were holding up a Russian flag, and the caption directly below the picture was: _‘Staying up all night to cheer on big brother Yurio! Shh, don’t tell Dad~’._

He was so going to call him. Putting the kids to bed early and waking them up to watch Yurio’s event was different from _staying up all night!_ His thumb hovered over the call button.

A hand closed around his wrist in a vise grip, stopping him. Yuuri looked up to see Yurio sitting next to him in his Team Russia jacket. He wasn’t looking at Yuuri and there was an angry expression on his face, but the look in his green eyes was half-panicked. Yuuri looked around and remembered that they were about to go out, that it was almost Yurio’s turn.

He took a deep breath and, with great effort of will, locked his screen and slipped his phone into his suit jacket pocket. Yurio released him and Yuuri took a deep breath, getting to his feet.

“Alright,” he said, putting a smile on his face. “How about we go warm up?”

Yurio snorted in derision, but got to his feet. 

* * *

 

“Don’t worry,” Yuuri said after the short program finished and he was guiding Yurio (who finished in first place, no surprises there), to the exit. “I’ll stay right here. You just have to talk to them for a few minutes and then we’ll head back to the hotel.”

Yurio rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, stepping out into the lobby to the sound of high-pitched squeals and screaming. Yuuri followed a few paces behind with what he hoped was an encouraging smile on his face, but on the inside he was quietly thankful that he had never reached that level of popularity. He didn’t know what he would do if he did—probably panic and never leave his room again.

With the help of event security, they managed to guide Yurio’s fans into something that was almost a single file line, and Yuuri watched to make sure that Yurio was being polite and that he also ended the evening with all of his limbs. One girl in particular got a little too touchy during a photo opportunity, and Yuuri was placed in the uncomfortable position of having to pry her off of Yurio while also making sure that Yurio didn’t chew her head off.

“Be nice to your fans,” Yuuri said under his breath as security gently but firmly escorted the girl away.

 _“I am being nice_ ,” Yurio hissed, also under his breath as he straightened out his jacket. He did manage to look not-entirely-angry as the next set of fans—a trio of girls that seemed to have come here together—approached with posters to autograph. Yuuri stayed just far enough away to be within reach in case Yurio needed him, reaching back into his pocket for his phone. He was scrolling through a message from Viktor when he heard someone come up behind him, clearing their throat hesitantly.

“Ano…” said a feminine voice, and the Japanese filler word made Yuuri look up instantly. “Excuse me, Katsuki-san.”

The words were spoken in Japanese. Yuuri looked over his shoulder, surprised. A young dark-haired woman, probably somewhere around Yurio’s age, was standing there looking embarrassed to be speaking at all. She was wearing a Team Japan jacket.

“Um—,” she said. “My name is Iwase Sayako. This is my first year skating in the Grand Prix Series, and I just wanted to say that I’ve always been a fan. A few years ago, when I was in Juniors, I had some issues and—and I was actually inspired to continue with skating after your comeback in Barcelona, and—um—I—.” She drew in a deep breath and straightened up, then sank into a bow. “—It’s very nice to meet you.”

Yuuri stared at her, momentarily dumbfounded. A hand landed on the middle of his back, shoving him in Sayako’s direction. He stumbled and looked back to see Yurio glaring at him. Sayako had spoken entirely in Japanese, a language that Yurio only barely understood, but it seemed like he had gotten the gist.

“Be nice to your fans, katsudon,” Yurio said, before turning back around to greet the next person.

Yuuri straightened up, exhaling as he turned towards Sayako. He had never been good at this. But—

—he thought of Sayako’s words. _‘I had some issues…’, ‘I was inspired to continue with skating…’_

—he could at least try.

“It’s nice to meet you, Iwase-san,” he said, replying in the same language, “The women’s short program was today as well, wasn’t it? I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention to the scores. How did it go…?”

* * *

 

_“We’re here live in Paris for the men’s free skate at the Trophee de France, the second to the last competition in the Grand Prix Series. The competition this year is fierce, with several competitors in the running for this year’s Grand Prix Final. First and foremost is last year’s gold medalist, Jean-Jacques Leroy of Canada. The 22-year-old skater won Skate Canada by a large margin, and will attempt to do the same at next weekend’s Cup of China._

_Last year’s silver medalist, Phichit Chulanont of Thailand, is also a strong contender for one of the six Grand Prix Final spots, with a bronze at Skate America and a gold medal at the NHK Trophy. Barring any major upsets, Chulanont’s qualification is all but confirmed._

_Yuri Plisetsky, bronze medalist at the Grand Prix Final in Nagoya, is currently in first place after his short program yesterday. After a gold medal at this year’s Rostelecom Cup, the 18-year-old skater is practically assured of a spot in Vancouver—assuming he makes it to the podium today!_

_Other strong contenders include Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan, this year’s gold medalist at Skate America, who will be competing against Jean-Jacques Leroy at the Cup of China next weekend. Leo de la Iglesia of the United States of America will also be competing at the Cup of China. De la Iglesia won silver this year at Skate America, and depending on his scores at the Cup of China, may be bound for his first ever Grand Prix Final! But Italy’s Michele Crispino, with a silver medal at the Rostelecom Cup and a bronze medal at the NHK Trophy, may be hot on his heels, along with Emil Nekola of the Czech Republic, whose silver medal at Skate Canada makes him a strong contender for the final, depending on his performance in Paris today. Finally, Seung-Gil Lee of Korea is hanging on by a thread after placing fourth at Skate Canada and winning silver at the NHK Trophy._

_It’s an exciting show, ladies and gentlemen, so stay with us as we kick off the Trophee de France men’s free skate!”_

* * *

 

_**[(Suggested Song)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVDw4ADwbOM) ** _

Yuri handed his guards to Yuuri, skating out into the center of the rink as his name was called. He took a deep breath as the music started playing, trying to sink into the feeling of the performance. His free skate was the emotional counterpoint to his energetic short program, a story about his life and his feelings thus far. That and the white costume he was wearing often led people to compare it to his senior debut—Agape.

Nobody else would be able to skate this, he thought. It was about him. About his desire to win. He could do this. Of course he could. It was, after all, about a subject he actually knew a lot about—himself.

He could do this.

* * *

 

He couldn’t do this.

That was the thought that ran through Yuri’s mind as Yuuri led him away from the rink, his gold medal a weight around his neck. He’d won gold and earned himself a confirmed spot at the Grand Prix Final, but after one missed jump and one actual fall that was really more a reflection of everyone else’s failure than his own success. Really, he’d practically _given_ them the competition. If he hadn’t been skating against blithering incompetents, he’d probably be walking away with a silver or a bronze. And he knew it.

Worse, he knew that Yuuri knew it too. Unlike Viktor, Yuuri never gave lectures immediately after a competition—probably because he still seemed to be a little uncomfortable in his role as a coach—but Yuri could sense the lecture building. The Japanese man wore the same nervous false smile on his face that he wore whenever a reporter asked him an uncomfortable question, and the lines that creased his brow spoke of anxious thoughts. Yuri half-wished that someone would yell at him already and just get it over with.

His phone buzzed. Yuri glanced at it to see a private message from J.J. of all people. _‘Congrats on the gold medal. Sorry about the fall. Bet you’re glad I wasn’t skating there, eh? See you in Vancouver!’_

What followed was a string of Canadian flag emojis. He cursed Canadian passive-aggressiveness with all of his heart and resisted the urge to throw his phone against the hallway wall. There were reporters out here and this phone was _new_.

Yuuri glanced over his shoulder, his hand tightening briefly around Yuri’s arm.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Yuuri said, his voice soft and sympathetic. That honestly just made Yuri feel worse about himself.

He scowled, jerking his arm out of Yuri’s grasp. “I don’t need your pity. I’ll get him in Canada.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and continued walking.

Great. Now Yuuri was trailing along behind him like a kicked puppy. It was actually making him feel _guilty_ , and guilt was the last thing he wanted to feel right now.

Ugh, why was his coach so pathetic? He had to distract Yuuri with something, otherwise Yuri was going to start the yelling himself.

Thankfully, passing by the curtains that led out into the rink provided him with a suitable distraction. The women’s free skate was going on outside, judging from the music and the way the crowd cheered. He glanced out at the ice through a half-open curtain, still scowling.

“Hey, isn’t that that chick that came up to talk to you yesterday?” he asked. “Sayoko or whatever.”

“Sayako,” Yuuri corrected, but he turned to look anyway. Yuri watched him out of the corner of his eye. He still wore that look of confused disbelief, as if he didn’t know why people would ever admire him in the first place.

Yuri snorted, rolling his eyes. God, his coach was pathetic.

“Sayako-chan!” Yuuri shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to make his voice carry. “Ganba!”

* * *

 

Viktor never did things by halves.

While he did occasionally forget his commitments and did have a tendency to make impulse decisions, when he decided to do something, he did it completely and thoroughly. He didn’t _just_ choreograph short programs for Yuuri and Yurio, he created the two best programs of the season. He didn’t _just_ decide to coach Yuuri, he helped Yuuri through the best skating season he had ever had at that point in his life. He didn’t _just_ decide to foster Sonia and Clara, he spent weeks fussing with the girls’ bedrooms, making them perfect, and that was before they even set foot in the house.

So when Viktor agreed with Yuuri’s suggestion that they do Christmas this year, Yuuri was expecting him to be into it. What he wasn’t expecting was to walk in through the front door of his house after Trophee de France and wander into a winter wonderland.

“Surprise!” Clara shouted, tackle-hugging him in the foyer before he could even get his shoes off. Makkachin followed suit, barreling into his knees so that Yuuri had to struggle to stay upright. He quickly wrapped an arm around the back of Clara’s knees so that he wouldn’t drop her, his eyes wide as he looked around the house. The house—what he could see of it, anyway—had been transformed, with lights and wreaths and tasteful Christmas decorations everywhere.

Clara giggled, throwing an arm over his shoulder to steady herself. “Do you like it?” she asked. “We were decorating all weekend! You should see the tree!”

“Tree?” Yuuri repeated dumbly, slipping out of his shoes with the ease of long practice. Makkachin barked, running towards the living room, and Clara laughed, sliding down onto the floor and chasing after the large poodle. Yuuri followed, still feeling slightly numb.

In the living room was the most stunning Christmas tree Yuuri had ever seen. It was trimmed in silver and gold, crystalline ornaments hanging from it and glinting in the living room’s light. Viktor and Sonia were still working on it, Sonia solemnly holding on to a box of ornaments while Viktor adjusted some of the tree’s lower branches.

Sonia’s eyes widened when she saw him, and she quickly looked away. It hurt Yuuri to see that. She had started being nervous around him after the incident in the attic, and that had only gotten worse after the mess with the teapot. But Viktor smiled to see him and stood up, brushing pine needles from the front of his pants, and the sight of Viktor’s smile soothed the sting somewhat.

Viktor wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close as they both turned to look at the tree.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

Yuuri had the brief impulse to ask how much all of this had cost them, but he realized before he could form the words that he didn’t actually care. He nodded. “I do.”

Viktor’s smile widened and Yuuri felt him shift his weight so that he was partly resting on him. He leaned in close to his ear.

 _“Okaeri,”_ he whispered, the accented Japanese sending a shiver down Yuuri’s spine. Welcome home.

Yuuri looked at the tree, at Sonia who stood there with the box of ornaments, trying to hide the fact that she was sneaking glances at him, at Clara who was rocking on her heels just in front of the Christmas tree, her hands behind her back as she looked at him expectantly, at Makkachin who lay beneath the tree, tail wagging. He felt a warmth run through him that chased away all of his nervousness about being gone, all of his jetlag, all of the weariness that had been building up since they first touched down in Paris.

 _“Tadaima,”_ he said, placing a hand over Viktor’s.

I’m home.

* * *

 

“You’re still here?” Mason asked, his tone incredulous as he stood in the doorway to their room. Yuri scowled from his desk, not looking up from his homework. 

“I live here, you idiot.”

“It’s Friday night,” said Mason, letting the door close behind him.

“I know what day it is,” said Yuri, tugging at his hair in frustration. This math class was going to be the death of him. Why had he decided to take _math_ for his science requirement anyway? He was a freaking _dance_ major. He already knew all the math that mattered. “It’s the katsudon’s birthday weekend, which means he and Viktor are going to be _disgusting_. No thank you.”

“So you’re going to sit here and complain about your math homework?” Mason asked. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for that—that Final thing of yours or whatever?”

“Yeah, well, once you tell the university to excuse me from _their_ stupid finals, I’ll get right on that,” said Yuri, shoving the sheet of paper he was working on to the side.

How did people do this anyway? No wonder it had taken the katsudon five years to graduate college, and that was _without_ any major skating victories. He promised himself that next quarter he was going to take something easy, like introductory ballet. It didn’t matter that he’d been studying ballet at _Russian ballet academies_ practically since he could walk, had trained under Lilia Baranovskaya, and could probably audition himself into any damn class level this university had to offer—they didn’t need to know that.

He pulled another sheet over to him, running a hand through his hair in frustration as he started writing. Mason came over hesitantly to look over his shoulder, and Yuri gripped his pen tighter, giving him a glare that just _dared_ him to offer his help. It wasn’t that Yuri hadn’t accepted help on these math problems in the past, but he was so done with people being patronizing and looking down on him.

Thankfully, Mason was either too scared of him to say something or he was on the right track with the homework, because the other boy just shrugged and walked over to his own bed to sit on it with his laptop. Yuri rolled his eyes, going back to his work.

He was about halfway through the problem when a knock came at the door. Yuri sat up, exchanging a confused glance with Mason, who had already gotten off his bed to open it. A girl that Yuri had seen around before was standing on the other side, a Macbook tucked under her arm. He remembered her from the crowd that had been waiting in this room after the Rostelecom Cup. Apparently, she had started following skating after the Olympics or something and it was her fault that everyone on campus now knew who he was. What was her name again? Something American that reminded him of a folk song. Susie? Susan?

“Susanna?” Mason said in surprise.

Oh, yeah, that was it.

“Hey,” Susanna said, handing him a beaten-up science-fiction novel. “I just finished with this. It’s great—thanks for lending it to me.”

Mason looked a little flustered as he took the novel from her hand. “Oh, um—right,” he said. “I did lend this to you. Uh—so you liked it?”

“It was really interesting,” said Susanna. “I mean, sci-fi isn’t my thing, but—.” She broke off suddenly, realizing that Yuri was there. She almost looked embarrassed. “—Oh, um—Yuri. You’re still here.”

Yeah, sure, Yuri thought. I’m just here trying not to fail college. It’s not like I live in this dorm room or everything. Let’s all point that out at once. Why don’t we shout it down the hallway, just tell everyone on the floor all at once? Hey, guys! Yuri Plisetsky sucks at math!

Since he really _was_ trying to control his temper better these days, he shrugged, inclining his head towards the pile of material on his desk. “Homework,” he said.

“Are you going to watch the Cup of China?” Susanna asked. “The men’s short program starts soon, doesn’t it?”

Like he would have forgotten Otabek’s short program. Just in case, though, he checked his phone, which had an alarm on it to remind him to tune into the livestream. He still had a little bit more time.

“I’m watching it,” he said.

“Oh, cool,” said Susanna. “Well, don’t let me keep you. Thanks again for the book, Mase.”

Mason stammered out something pathetic in reply as Susanna closed the door. Yuri snorted, going back to the math problem.

“She likes you,” Yuri said.

Mason went red. “She does not!” he said. “She was just coming over here to see _you_.”

“Yeah,” Yuri said. “That’s why she didn’t know I was here and barely noticed me at all.”

“She’s a skating fan,” Mason said, defensively. “You’re like—like candy to skating fans.”

“Whatever you say, _Mase_.”

He finished off the math problem, gave up, and turned to the Cup of China livestream, which was open on a tab on his laptop. The men’s short program was just about to begin, although from the looks of it, they were still going through warm-up. He caught a couple of glimpses of Otabek, but the cameraperson seemed enamored with J.J. for some reason, and he really didn’t want to spend his Friday night watching J.J. prance around a rink. He looked away from the screen and back at Mason, who was now reading a book. The same book that Susanna had just returned to him. Yuri might have gagged.

“Hey,” he said. “If you’re interested in skating, come watch this.”

“The Cup of China?” Mason asked, looking over at his screen. “That’s the last of the Grand Prix competitions, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Yuri, turning on his TV and beginning the process of connecting the television to the laptop. “My friend Beka’s skating tonight. He’s really good too. You should watch him.”

“Wait—,” said Mason, giving him a dumbfounded look. “Beka’s a _guy_! I thought he was a girl!”

“What?” Yuri asked, looking back at Mason.

“I thought she was your girlfriend!”

_“What?!”_

“Well, you’re always so nice to him when you’re on the phone!” said Mason.

“I’m nice to you,” said Yuri, glaring. “Want me to stop?”

“Oh come on, it was an honest mistake!” said Mason. “Beka _sounds_ like a girl’s name!”

“It’s short for _Otabek_!”

“I thought it was short for _Rebecca_!”

“What kind of name is Rebecca?!”

“What kind of name is Otabek?!” asked Mason.

“He’s Kazakh.”

“…You’re looking at me like this should be obvious,” said Mason.

Yuri rolled his eyes, muttering a few choice words under his breath for the American educational system. He might have been struggling in math, but at least he could find Kazakhstan on a map.

“Mason,” Yuri said. “You are an _idiot.”_

“You act like I should be insulted by that, but I have two older brothers. I’ve heard it all. And isn’t that your friend Beka performing now?”

Yuri jumped, turning towards his TV screen. Sure enough, Otabek was already on the ice. He fumbled with the video’s settings, the sound coming back on so that Otabek’s short program music filled the room. By the time he sat up in his chair, Otabek was mid-jump, the camera focused on him.

It was a bad jump. Yuri’s breath caught in his throat. You could tell, when you were in the air, if a jump was going to turn out badly or not, and Otabek’s expression said he knew this would be a bad one.

He fell, sliding across the ice.

And didn’t get back up.

Yuri felt cold horror creep into his veins, coiling in the pit of his stomach. On screen, he heard the roar of the crowd, their shouts of alarm, but it was all coming from a distance. The music continued for a few more pitiful bars before guttering to a stop, and the sound of silence was worse. There was a high-pitched noise in the background somewhere, his world shrinking to a narrow point that eclipsed only the screen.

“Uh—Yuri,” Mason said. “—that’s not supposed to happen, is it?”

Yuri shook his head, eyes wide, feeling like the world was dropping out from under his feet.

* * *

 

 


	10. Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The locations that Viktor and Yuuri stop at on the way up to Canada actually exist and you can look them up online for more information!

**Grand Prix of Skating 2018**

**Men’s Singles Finalists**

  1. Jean-Jacques Leroy (Canada) – Gold (SC), Gold (China)
  2. Yuri Plisetsky (Russia) – Gold (Ros), Gold (Fra)
  3. Phichit Chulanont (Thailand) – Bronze (SA), Gold (NHK)
  4. Leo de la Iglesia (USA) – Silver (SA), Silver (China)
  5. Michele Crispino (Italy) – Silver (Ros), Bronze (NHK)
  6. Emil Nekola (Czech Republic) – Silver (SC), Bronze (Fra)



* * *

It was close to five-thirty in the morning when Mason woke up to the sound of a drawer being shut, clothes being shoved into a bag. He blinked open bleary eyes and rolled over in bed, turning to face his roommate. Yuri was packing quickly, tossing a few textbooks in after the clothes. He was still wearing the clothes he wore last night.

“You’re still going to Kazakhstan?” Mason asked, fighting off a yawn.

Yuri didn’t look back when he responded, zipping the bag shut. “Portland.”

“I thought you were taking the weekend to study…”

“Done studying,” said Yuri, jerking his head towards the pile of papers on his desk. His accent was thicker than usual. Apparently Yuri’s English skills took a hit after an all-nighter. Good to know. “Practice now. I’m going to win for my friend.”

“Aww.”  

“No!” Yuri snapped, spinning around to face him with his bag slung over his shoulder. He jabbed a finger in Mason’s direction. “No _‘aww’_! Just watch. I’m going to win. Check this homework for me,” he added as he left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Mason exhaled as the crack of the door died down, flopping back onto his pillow. He added _‘check homework’_ to his mental to-do list, along with _‘teach roommate to exit room without slamming door’,_ then closed his eyes and let himself fall back asleep.

* * *

 

Yuri stomped his way down the stairs, his bag slung over his shoulder. The duffel bounced with the sudden movements, knocking into his back each time he put his foot down. He got all the way to the second floor landing before he scowled, cursed under his breath, and doubled back onto the third floor. What the hell was her room number? 312? 313?

He stopped in front of a door that had her name pasted onto it in colorful cutout letters and raised his fist, pounding on it three times.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Susanna!”

There was a groan from somewhere inside and then the door opened. Susanna glared at him from underneath a curtain of messy brown hair—apparently her starstruck-ness didn’t extend to being woken up at dark-thirty in the morning.

“What?” she asked, pushing her hair back out of her face.

“Mason likes you. He’s too much of a pansy to ask you out. Take him out for coffee or something, dammit.”

Susanna blinked, her fingers curling in her hair.

“You’re a good friend, Yuri,” she said, after a moment.

“Yeah, yeah,” Yuri said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t spread that around.”

* * *

 

The day after the Cup of China, Viktor woke up early.

Well, he told himself, as he sat in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and Makkachin sniffing at the ground at his feet, it wasn’t really waking up early if you didn’t actually get much sleep. He took a long sip of his coffee and stared down at his phone, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. Still nothing from Yurio. The whole night, Viktor had kept himself up wondering what he would do when Yurio contacted him, what Yurio would be doing now and what he would say in response to that. He’d made one decision already, and despite his own history, despite the fact that he really was not one to talk, it was a surprisingly hard decision to make.

If Yurio had packed up and booked a flight to Almaty, he wasn’t going to be angry. In the end, everything—all of this, this competition, this situation—was all Yurio’s choice.

He just wished his protégé would contact him so that he could stop wondering already.

“Should I call him, you think?” Viktor asked, speaking softly in Russian as he reached down to scratch Makkachin behind the ears. Makkachin nosed his head into his hand and Viktor glanced at the clock. It was almost eight in the morning. Yurio might be awake already, or he might not—it all depended on when he had finally gotten himself to go to sleep.

He wasn’t expecting the front door to swing wide open.

Viktor jumped in his seat and Makkachin sat up, letting out an excited yelp as he ran to the foyer.

“Agh!” a voice shouted from the foyer as Makkachin started barking. “Get away from me, you stupid dog!”

The alarm system let out a series of warning noises, reminding Viktor that he hadn’t yet disarmed it for the day, and he jumped up and ran to the control panel before it decided to call the police. He plugged in the code as fast as he could and looked into the foyer.

Yurio was standing there in the early morning light, a bag slung over one shoulder as he shoved at an excited Makkachin. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his face was pale, his clothes rumpled as if he had been wearing them for a while. Makkachin ran around him, heedless of his attempts to push the dog away, and occasionally licked at his hands.

Viktor stared at him.

“Yurio…” he said. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” Yurio said, glaring at him. “I live here. What about it? Let’s go to the rink.”

“Now?” Viktor asked.

“Not getting any younger,” Yurio said, “and we’ve got a Grand Prix Final in a couple of weeks, so come on. Put some clothes on and let’s go already.”

Viktor glanced down at what he was wearing—which was pretty much a robe and shorts. He looked back at Yurio, still surprised, and Yurio let out an impatient growl.

“Forget it,” he said, turning around. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Have you had any sleep?” Viktor asked, because he felt like he should say something about that.

“Who the fuck cares?!” Yurio asked, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the glass panes set into it. Viktor stood there, still dumbfounded, while Makkachin pawed at the door and he heard the whine of an engine in the driveway.

Then he turned around and walked into the kitchen because if Yurio hadn’t slept, then he probably hadn’t eaten either, and this seemed like it was going to be a long day.

* * *

 

The Grand Prix Final was the most exciting event planned for the Katsuki-Nikiforov household over the next few weeks, but it certainly wasn’t the only event. While Yurio came in and out of the house whenever he could and spent most of his weekends at the rink with Viktor, Sonia was preparing for an event of her own—a holiday ballet recital where she had been chosen to perform as the Little Drummer Girl.

Viktor, predictably, was over the moon. Where all of the other little girls in Sonia’s class were getting their hair and make-up done by their mothers, he had already booked an appointment at a proper salon—only the best for his little angel. If it had been Clara, Yuuri would have been worried she was going to get spoiled, but Sonia had the sort of disposition that made you want to throw nice things at her until she believed she was worth them.

Viktor had also told Yurio in no uncertain terms that they would not be doing any practice for the hours that encompassed the recital and the dinner that they would go to after. Yurio was surprisingly alright with that. In fact, in his own way, Yuuri would have said he was just as invested in the recital as Viktor. He had always helped Sonia practice a little, which Yuuri believed was part of the reason why Sonia had been chosen for a comparatively major part at this recital in the first place, but now when he wasn’t at the rink, he seemed to be doing his best to channel Lilia Baranovskaya.

Yuuri kept an eye on them in case he was being too hard on her, but for the most part, he didn’t intervene. He didn’t even point out how involved Yurio was being either, afraid that if he did, it would break the spell and this would stop.

And he didn’t want this to stop. Because although they had made progress over the past eight months, Sonia was still the most open to them when she was performing, even if it was only for a little bit.

* * *

 

“No,” Yuri said, clapping his hands and bringing an end to the practice. Sonia blinked up at him tiredly, putting both of her feet on the ground. “No, no, no. Stop. You need to be more _expressive_. This is about telling a story. Again.”

Sonia took a deep breath, beginning her routine. Yuri clicked his tongue impatiently.

“No,” he said. “Focus on the story. Again.”

Sonia started up again. Yuri scowled, shaking his head. “No,” he said. “No, Soneta, not like that. Come on, lost little kid with only one gift to bring? This should be your bread and butter—try it again.”

Sonia relaxed her features and started the movements, her eyes focused on something Yuri couldn’t see. Something happened suddenly, something that peeled the curtain away from her guarded expression. She looked _transformed_ , as if her world had faded away until she was the only one dancing in it.

It was the sort of expression Yuuri had sometimes when he skated and Yuri stared, arms folded in abject jealousy because it was just _unfair_. Her technique might have been sloppy and amateurish, but you could fix bad technique. You couldn’t teach _that_.

“Alright, kid,” he said, clapping his hands. “Stop showing off. Let’s start from the top, come on. Pa ra pa pum pum.”

* * *

 

Sometime around the start of December, their caseworker called with some good news. Everything was all set for the girls to go to Canada with them, assuming they had all their passports and paperwork ready, and considering Viktor and Yuuri had gotten passports for them from pretty much the start of the skating season, just in case, that was no problem at all.

She also had another piece of news which was even more exciting—the girls’ adoption papers were almost ready. Like ‘ready-by-Christmas’ almost ready. They were so almost ready, in fact, that the caseworker mentioned that they really should start thinking of names, since they would get an opportunity to change the girls’ names for their amended birth certificates.

This led to a private conference that took almost the entire night, because while both of them were adamant that ‘Sonia’ and ‘Clara’ were perfect first names for the girls, the intricacies of Japanese and Russian naming conventions translated through the lens of the American legal system and the sort of internal politics involved in even talking about Russian patronymics for children with _two_ fathers meant that the sun was almost up by the time they were happy.

The reasoning behind the names were as follows: Sonia and Clara were perfect names and should not be changed under any circumstances—the girls were already used to them, and they had been given by their birth mother who they loved and who should be remembered as much as possible. A double-barreled last name, while lengthy, was really the only way to go, and ‘Katsuki-Nikiforov’ was the perfect order to put their names in since the media already referred to their collective family by that name and since Japanese surnames came first while Russian surnames came last so neither surname was devalued or lost its meaning.

Patronyms could go in as middle names, and because they had two children, the complication that came with them having two fathers was not a problem. And they _would_ use the patronyms because they reminded Viktor of home and—“be quiet, Viktor, there is _nothing_ wrong with that”—he did sometimes get homesick. Japanese names were much simpler (‘Surname’, ‘Given name’), and since both Sonia and Clara were easily translated into katakana, Yuuri didn’t feel like there was anything he needed to add.

The result was a pair of names that they had written out in English lettering, katakana and Cyrillic, and that Viktor stared at for the longest time before picking up a pen and adding one last letter to the end of each name (‘a’, ‘а’, ‘ア’). He took a step back and studied the new names from all angles.

_Sonia Viktorovna Katsuki-Nikiforova_

_Clara Yuryevna Katsuki-Nikiforova_

They were mouthfuls, but middle names were rarely used in the States and would in most cases be shortened to ‘V.’ and ‘Y.’. And there were pieces of both of them in there, so the names were perfect.

Then Yurio saw the names the next morning and pointed out that if they ever adopted more kids or found a surrogate or whatever, they would have to do that in sets of two to keep up the pattern. That kicked off another round of discussion that didn’t end up changing anything but made Yurio really wish he could stop running his damn mouth.

* * *

 

The day of the recital, Viktor returned from the parlor with Sonia and Clara (who had been brought along so that she wouldn’t feel left out) in tow. Sonia’s natural curls had been transformed into a layer of soft waves that cascaded down her back with the top braided back to keep it out of her face. Her makeup was stage makeup, a dusting of colors that went well with the costume she was wearing. She couldn’t keep herself from stopping in front of every reflective surface in the house, her eyes wide as she looked at her reflection while Clara ran along in the background behind her, showing off her brightly-colored nails to anyone who would take the time to look at them.

“Your daughter’s a little fashionista,” Viktor commented to Yuuri as they watched Clara chase after an annoyed Yurio. The words were said quietly. They still hadn’t told the girls about the state of the adoption papers, deciding to make it a Christmas surprise. The words filled him with warmth, but Yuuri managed a soft sound of derision.

“ _Your_ daughter,” he said.

“Ours?” Viktor offered, glancing at him from beneath a fall of platinum hair.

Yuuri smiled, flushing slightly as he looked away.

“Ours.”

The flush vanished as he caught sight of Viktor’s hand. He grabbed it out of the air just as his husband made to walk away, stopping him. Yuuri gave Viktor an incredulous look as he ran his thumb over the freshly manicured nails. Viktor returned the look with a sheepish smile.

“Well, I got bored waiting for the girls and thought ‘why not’? Treat yourself, right?”

_“Viktor!”_

Viktor laughed, pulling his hand out of Yuuri’s grasp. He placed his hand on Yuuri’s head, ruffling his hair while Yuuri pouted at him, and Yuuri tried not to consider the fact that if Viktor had his way they would all be bankrupt in the next ten or twenty years.

* * *

 

Sonia was beautiful at the recital.

Yuuri wondered if he was thinking that just because she was part of their family, or because she really did have a presence on stage that couldn’t be ignored. Either way, he was proud of her, and Viktor was proud as well. Even Yurio grudgingly admitted that it was ‘alright for her level’ and ‘she did okay, but what the hell was up with that last pirouette, come on, Soneta, I taught you better than that’. Viktor smiled and drew Yuuri closer, and murmured that heaven help the next generation of skaters if Yurio ever decided to take up coaching.

They went out to dinner after that and had a great time, even if they had to push Sonia a little to order whatever she wanted (and to insist to Clara that no, she couldn’t order the entire dessert menu and call it a night).

It was when they returned to the house that the mood turned sour. Yuuri had just finished putting two very tired girls to bed, and Yurio had disappeared down into the basement when Viktor found him, holding his phone in his hand with a distressed expression on his face.

“Yuuri!” he said.

The Russian Nationals, which up until this point were supposedly scheduled to end on the 24th—a problem for any sort of Christmas Eve celebration but with some creative flight scheduling, not a significant barrier to them celebrating Viktor’s birthday and Christmas Day—had been moved up to accommodate a ‘slight scheduling error’. They were now ending on the 26th.

“What do we do?” Viktor asked. “The girls were already so excited for Christmas.”

Yuuri’s mind raced, trying to come up with a solution as fast as possible. “It can’t be helped,” he finally said. “We can’t just leave Yurio. We’ll celebrate when you all get back, or we can take the girls to Russia with us.”

“But I wanted to celebrate in this house…” Viktor said with a sigh, his eyes moving to the Christmas tree that he, Sonia and Clara had decorated together.

At the end of the day, he sighed and, though clearly disappointed, let it go. That was the trouble with being a skating family, they concluded. The show had to go on.

* * *

 

It was decided that rather than fly, they were all going to drive up to Vancouver, so Yuri showed up at their house late on the Tuesday before the Grand Prix Finals started. It was also university finals that week, so he was exhausted and cranky, but had managed to work things out with his professors so that he could take his final exams early. Apparently ‘I have to go skate at a major international competition’ was a good enough excuse.

“I wonder if we should take your car too,” Viktor mused as they stood outside on the lawn in the evening light, studying the two cars in the driveway. “It might be good to have two cars in Vancouver…”

He walked towards Yuri’s car, considering, then froze as he noticed the state the car was in.

“Yuri,” he said, taking in the food wrappers in the front seat, the gear and athletic clothes hastily thrown into the back. “When was the last time you cleaned this?”

“Um—I don’t know,” said Yuri. “Does it matter?”

Viktor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He muttered something in Russian that sounded suspiciously like ‘God save me from teenage boys’, then looked up at Yuri. “Clean your car, wash your gear, do your laundry, and we’re all taking the same car up to Vancouver. Welcome home from college.”

* * *

 

The next morning before the sun was fully up, the six of them (including Makkachin), piled up into Viktor and Yuuri’s car. Yurio sat in the back with the girls and dog and complained for a bit about the arrangement before falling asleep with his head against the window and Makkachin’s tail waving in his face. The girls were too excited to go back to sleep. They had never left the country before, and even though Vancouver was so close to the border that it was hardly an exotic locale, this was still an adventure neither of them had really imagined. Clara couldn’t stop talking and singing to herself as they drove through Washington State, and Sonia stared out the window with an expression of wonder.

Yurio woke up three hours later, when they were halfway through Seattle, and complained loudly about needing to make a restroom stop. Since they were already moving through downtown Seattle and were making good time, they stopped at Pike Place Market for breakfast and coffee. They sat by the waterfront while they ate, listening to the sound of the gulls while Sonia and Clara played with Makkachin and Yuuri worried that they were going to fall off the edge of the dock. They switched drivers when they got back into the car, with Viktor driving while Yuuri settled into the front seat.

Predictably, they got stuck in traffic on the way out of Seattle, but since the competition didn’t start until the next day, none of them were in any hurry to get to Vancouver. Still, they were relieved and slightly irritable when the traffic cleared up north of the city, and Viktor played some music on the car’s radio as the girls curled up close to each other in the back seat, asleep.

“Isn’t there a shrine somewhere around here?” Viktor asked as they drove down the highway. Yuuri looked up from where he was scrolling through social media, frowning in thought.

“Mm,” he said. “Tsubaki Shrine, or something like that. I’ve heard about it.”

“You want to make a stop?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri’s eyes lit up in a way that told Viktor he did want to stop, but he flushed, embarrassed, and shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “It’s fine. I don’t want to make us late.”

“Love, we aren’t going to be late,” said Viktor, already pulling off the road to adjust the car’s GPS. “We’re a day early and besides, maybe we could use some extra luck.”

After that, Yuuri didn’t protest as they drove off the highway and followed directions to the shrine.

When they did stop and walk through the shrine gates, making their way down the lantern-strewn path that led to the shrine, Viktor decided they had made the right decision. Yuuri was looking around at everything through the lens of wonder and nostalgia, and it warmed his heart to see it. If he hadn’t known that they were in western Washington State, he might have said that they were in Japan.

He moved towards Yuuri as they walked down the trail, wrapping an arm around him from behind. Yuuri jumped and turned towards Viktor, coming back down to earth from wherever his mind had been wandering.

“We should come back here for New Year,” Viktor said.

Yuuri shook his head, but Viktor could see from the look in his eye that he wanted that, that he was already imagining it. “It’s too far,” he said.

“It’s only three hours away,” Viktor said. “We can stay in Seattle. It will be a…a…” He paused, placing a finger on his mouth. “—the word for festival?”

 _“Matsuri_.”

“ _Matsuri_ ,” Viktor repeated. In somewhat broken Japanese, he added, _“I want to go with everyone to the matsuri_.” It was a hard language, but he was learning, just as Yuuri had learned some Russian during their time in St. Petersburg.

Yuuri blushed red and looked down at his shoes, but he was happy. Viktor could see that, and he was certain that anyone could.

Walking through the shrine grounds was like walking through a different world, with only the English signs that instructed visitors on proper shrine etiquette breaking the illusion. Yuuri seemed happy to explain everything to Clara and Sonia as they made their way towards the shrine proper. Yurio, Viktor noted, picked up one of the wooden ladles and washed his hands and mouth the proper way without being told, although he did grumble about the temperature of the water.

Inside, the shrine had all the trappings of the shrine near Hasetsu, including a stand selling amulets and wooden ema plates for wishes. While the girls were looking around admiring the interior of the shrine and Yurio followed along as reluctant babysitter, Yuuri bought an amulet that Viktor noticed was for ‘child welfare’. Viktor smiled at that, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s waist from behind, and told the man behind the counter that they would like another.

Yurio grumbled about the shrine, but professional athletes were famously superstitious, and Viktor saw him buy an amulet for ‘focused efforts’ when no one was looking.

Clara was curious about the ema plates, so Yuuri decided to buy one for her, explaining that you wrote wishes on them and hung them up outside the shrine. Yurio bought one as well and they stood aside to write on them.

“What are you writing, Yura?” Clara asked, turning towards Yurio.

“That I’ll win the competition, of course,” Yurio grumbled, turning aside so that he could start writing. “What else?”

“Why are you writing in Russian?” Clara asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Because I’m Russian! Come on, Klarik, think for a minute!”

Viktor chanced a glance over Yurio’s shoulder. In smooth Cyrillic lettering, he had written: _‘That Beka gets better soon and comes back next season.’_

“Aww, Yurio, that’s so sweet!” Viktor said.

Yurio jumped, his face flushing, and turned away so that his body was between Viktor and the ema plate. “Don’t look!” he snapped. “Get away from me!”

Viktor laughed and stepped back, hands upraised in a gesture of innocence. Off to his left, Clara was staring at her own plate in consideration, pen in her hand.

“What do you want to write, Clara-chan?” Yuuri asked.

“That Yura wins the competition!” said Clara, smiling brightly.

“Alright,” said Yuuri, returning the smile. “Can you write it yourself, or do you want me to do that?”

“Um—I want you to write it, Dad.”

“Okay,” said Yuuri, taking the pen. He had just started writing something down when Clara shook her head in protest.

“No!” she said. “I want you to write it how you write!”

Yuuri blinked in surprise. “You mean in Japanese?” he asked.

“Yes!” said Clara.

Yuuri looked at her, and Viktor smiled at the expression that crossed the other man’s face. “Alright,” he said, and his voice sounded hushed when he spoke. “Alright, I’ll write it for you. Here, let me sound out the words so you know what they are…”

He turned away from them to find Sonia staring at the counter, at the rows of blank ema plates.

“What about you, Sonechka?” Viktor asked, crouching down to her level. “Do you want one?”

Sonia started, looking embarrassed. “Um—n-no,” she said. “No, it’s fine, I—I’m just—.”

Viktor gave her a reassuring smile, reaching for his wallet. “Okay,” he said, withdrawing a $10 bill. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to give you this and I’m going to walk away, and if you want an ema plate, you can buy one. Alright?”

Sonia flushed, but nodded, taking the money from his hands and balling it up tightly in her fist.

* * *

 

Sonia wasn’t there when they assembled to get back in the car, so Viktor sent Yuri after her. The Russian skater scowled, trudging back up the trail and wondering how he had become the babysitter to these children. He found Sonia standing at the ema rack, tying a plate to it with a far off expression on her face.

“Hey!” he shouted, raising his arm up in a brusque wave. “Time to go!”

Sonia jumped away from the ema rack as if she had been burned, her eyes wide as she glanced at him. She ran up the trail without a word, brushing past him and heading for the car.

Yuri grumbled something under his breath about annoying kids and was just about to turn when curiosity seized him. He walked forward, searching through the rows of ema plates until he found the one Sonia had written. On it was a single sentence:

_I want to stay with this family._

Yuri stared at the plate in his hand, feeling something annoying tug at his heart. He let go of the plate, looking back up at the path Sonia had taken.

“That’s the last thing you have to worry about, kid…”  

* * *

 

 **Viktor Nikforov** @vnikiforov √

What has four wheels, fourteen legs, twelve eyes, one tail, three citizenships, five passports, and is heading to the #VancouverGPF? Us! @katsukiyuri @yuriplisetsky

 **Yuri Katsuki** @katsukiyuri √

@vnikiforov @yuriplisetsky (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

 **Yuri Plisetsky** @yuriplisetsky √

Get me the frig out of this car.


	11. Philia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some evil spirit possessed me to do the entire GPF in one chapter (well, the skating bits anyway) so you get this mess. I’m sure many of you have figured out that unlike the show (which is amazing in many ways) the actual ice skating is not the focus of this fic (and I wouldn’t be able to write it to the level that it deserves anyway), so I hope you forgive me if I choose to downplay the skating elements in favor of the character development scenes. (Of course, any and all skating elements that relate directly to Yurio’s subplot will be mentioned, but if I say any more, I’ll end up spoiling this chapter~). 
> 
> Also my Spanish makes my ancestors roll over in their graves, so I apologize to any native speakers if I screwed up. 
> 
> As usual, amazing art courtesy of LianneSilver927.
> 
> Enjoy and thanks so much for all your support! Happy New Year!

Emil Nekola was excited.

He had been to several Grand Prix Finals before, mostly supporting his friends Michele and Sara, but this time thanks to some quirk of fate, he had managed to qualify for the Final himself. Of course, Mickey wasn’t too happy about it, with all of his complaining that Emil was going to have more time hanging around Sara, and Otabek Altin was injured and couldn’t compete, but it was still an exciting time. He’d spent his first few minutes at the arena finding other skaters he knew and greeting them. So far, he had tracked down Mickey and J.J., but—

—oh, there was Yuri Plisetsky now. He was walking with his coaches and two small girls that Emil guessed were Viktor and Yuuri’s adopted children. He walked up to Yuri with a grin, hand raised in a wave.

“Hey, Yuri—,” he began.

There were no words for the death glare that Yuri Plisetsky gave him at that moment. A man shouldn’t be able to be intimidating when he was wearing a tiger print hoodie and holding on to a little six-year-old girl’s hand, but somehow Yuri managed it. It was enough to dampen even Emil’s spirits.

Yikes.

* * *

 

“Did you really have to do that, Yurio?” Yuuri asked, watching as Emil scuttled away.

“Freaking loser thinks he can come up and talk to me,” Yuri grumbled, holding tighter to Clara’s hand. “He only qualified because Beka was injured.”

Yuuri sighed, opening his mouth as if he was about to say something more, but before he could, a group of Yuri’s fans spotted them from across the lobby. They were separated from the five of them by a length of red velvet rope and stanchions, but they crowded in against the barrier, shouting “Yurochka” at them. Sonia flinched away from the attention, hiding behind Yuuri, while Clara blinked at the fans, surprised.

“Wow, Yura,” she said. “You really _are_ famous.”

“Yeah,” Yuri muttered, “Don’t remind me.” At Viktor’s nudge, he raised his hand, offering his fans a grudging wave that only made them shout louder. Viktor smiled, completely at ease with all the attention, and waved at the fans.

“Come support Yurochka at the short program tomorrow!” he said, before placing a hand on both Yu(u)ris’ backs and ushering them into a quieter corner of the lobby. Yuri shot him a glare once they were far enough away, letting go of Clara’s hand so that he could slip both hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.

“If you _ever_ call me Yurochka to my face, I’m out of here,” he threatened.

“I would never call you that, Yurio,” Viktor said, uncharacteristically serious as he gave Yuuri a sidelong glance. Yuuri—Yuri noted—went fully red, the blush spreading from his cheeks to the roots of his hair.

Yuri made a terrible realization.

“Ew!” he shouted. “Ew, ew, ew, ew, _gross_!”

“We’re married, in case you haven’t noticed,” said Viktor. He gave Yuuri another glance. “Very married.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to bring _my name_ into it!” said Yuri.

“What’s gross?” Clara asked, tugging at his sleeve. “What’s gross, Yura?”

He was spared having to answer by a loud booming laugh from across the lobby. J.J. was moving across the large space on his way to the rink, arm in arm with his wife Isabella. A large group of his fans trailed along behind him, camera lights flashing. Many of them were holding Canadian flags.

“Of course J.J. will win,” the Canadian skater was saying, grinning at the reporter who was following along behind them. “I wouldn’t disappoint all the people of Canada who’ve come out to support me.”

Yuri growled, clenching his hands into fists.

“Who’s that?” Clara asked, staring at J.J.

“Jean-Jacques Leroy of Canada,” Sonia said softly, one of the first things she had said since arriving at the rink. “He won the Grand Prix Final last year. He’s—um—he’s Yuri’s rival.”

“J.J. is _not_ my rival,” Yuri said, gritting his teeth. “He’s not worth being my rival.”

“Why do all those girls like him anyway?” Clara asked, placing one hand on her hip. “His shirt doesn’t match his shoes, and he can’t pull off that hair.”

Yuuri choked and spluttered, and Viktor barked out a laugh. Yuri snorted in amusement, placing a hand on the back of Clara’s head.

“Come on, kid,” he said. “I’ll buy you ice cream. Whatever you want.”

* * *

 

“That was you,” Yuuri said, watching as Yurio led Clara away. “She picked that up from _you_.”

“She’s a fast learner,” Viktor agreed, still smiling as he watched the two of them leave.

“Yuuri!” someone called from a distance, making the both of them turn.

Yuuri’s face lit up as he saw who it was. He smiled, holding up a hand. 

“Phichit!” he called back. “Leo!”

Phichit walked up to them with a grin on his face, Leo in tow. Leo smiled at Sonia as he approached, crouching down to her level. _“Oi, chiquita, ¿tu hermano está listo para mañana?”_

Viktor and Yuuri turned towards him at the same time, confused, but before either of them could say anything, Sonia responded.

 _“_ Um—uh— _c-creo que sí, pero puedes preguntarle.”_

Viktor’s jaw dropped. Yuuri stared at Sonia with the same dumbfounded expression. Leo barely seemed to notice.

“ _¿Dondé está?”_

_“F-Fue a comprar helado para Clara…”_

_“¿Y no para ti?”_ Leo sounded shocked. _“¡Qué horror!_ How can he do that to you?”

“Sonechka, you speak Spanish?” Viktor asked, staring at her.

“Of course she does,” said Leo, getting up. “She’s Latina!”

“It’s…my first language actually,” Sonia mumbled, looking shy.

“Does Clara speak it?” asked Yuuri.

“Mm…not really,” said Sonia. “She was really little, so she forgot a lot of it, but I think she still understands— _aah_!” The sentence was cut off by a shriek as Viktor picked her up under the arms, swinging her around. “Pa—V- _Viktor!”_

“My Sonechka is a girl of many talents,” said Viktor. “We’re going to teach you Russian next, okay? Or Japanese? Which do you prefer?”

“I—um—it—uh—it doesn’t really matter,” said Sonia. “I can learn either, o-or—.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Nikiforov,” said a new voice, speaking from somewhere behind Viktor.

Viktor turned, still holding Sonia. A reporter was standing there, a microphone in her hand while a cameraman waited behind her. “Do you have time for a few questions?” she asked.

“Sure,” Viktor said, smiling as he set Sonia back on the ground. The look he gave Yuuri was apologetic. “Duty calls. This shouldn’t take long. Why don’t you show Sonechka around?”

“There he goes…” said Leo, watching as the reporter led Viktor away. “Two actual contestants standing here and it’s Viktor they want to interview.”

“That’s what happens when you’re a legend, I guess,” said Phichit, but he didn’t seem particularly troubled about it. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his own jacket, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet and then back to his heels. “Come on,” he said, looking back at Yuuri and Leo. “Let’s go give Sonia a tour.”

Yuuri nodded, but he was still thinking hard as they walked away. Later, while Phichit had picked Sonia up so that she could see over the rink wall and watch the junior skaters practice, he walked up to Leo and asked, quietly, if the other skater did anything special for Christmas. 

* * *

 

“Yuri’s confident,” Viktor said, the answers to the interview questions coming easily to him as he spoke into the microphone. “I’m sure he’ll do very well.”

“It’s been a busy year for your family, hasn’t it?” asked the reporter. “Would you like to comment on the adoption process that you and Yuuri Katsuki have been going through?”

He’d expected that question, so it wasn’t difficult. Viktor leaned in closer to the microphone, making sure to smile for the camera as he did. “We’re both very excited, of course,” he said. “We love the girls and are looking forward to officially welcoming them into our family.”

 _“_ How are you dealing with the Russian Nationals being held over Christmas?” the reporter asked. “Is this a concern for you or your daughters at all?”

“I—.” Viktor paused, because this question wasn’t one that he had been prepared for. He recovered quickly, though, straightening up and giving the camera another smile. “Well, it’s difficult, of course, but it can’t be helped. We have plans to celebrate when we get back. I hope that everyone continues to support Yuri in Russia…”

* * *

 

To get to the nearest ice cream shop, Yuri had to fight through a knot of his fangirls. Thankfully, it seemed that Clara’s presence had a calming effect on them. They stayed out of his way, giving him a clear space to walk in, although it seemed like that was more for her sake than it was for his.

Still, he was forced to—grudgingly—admit that his fans weren’t all that bad. At least the ones that didn’t get touchy feely and invaded his personal space.

“What flavor do you want?” he asked when they entered the ice cream shop, and Clara ran over to the display counter. Her eyes were wide as she looked over the different flavors, her breath fogging the glass. A handful of fans followed along behind them, and Yuri could hear them as a soft background hush of conversation that he did his best to ignore.

“I don’t know,” Clara said. “They all look so good! What flavor do you want, Yura? How about pistachio? It’s all green!”

Yuri scowled. “I don’t like—,” he began, already reaching for his wallet.

“He doesn’t like pistachio,” a deep voice rumbled from behind them.

Yuri froze, hand halfway to his back pocket. He realized then that the fans behind him had gone completely quiet, so quiet that he could hear a pin drop in the ice cream shop. He looked over his shoulder, tense.

Otabek was standing there, looking nonchalant with a hand in the pocket of his winter jacket. His right leg was covered in a bulky black walking boot, but otherwise he was standing. He glanced sidelong at Yuri’s shocked expression, before turning towards Clara, handing her a handful of Canadian dollars. Clara stared down at the strange colored bills in her hand, eyes wide in childlike wonder.

“Dark chocolate for Yura,” he told her. “And I’ll have the coffee bean.”

* * *

 

Clara was eating a chocolate chip cookie dough waffle cone that was about as big as her head. Yuri watched her, half-impressed and half-aware that Yuuri was probably going to kill him later. He shoved a handful of napkins in her direction, more a suggestion really, then turned towards Otabek, who was quietly eating ice cream.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

“Watching the Final.”

“You flew all the way to Vancouver to watch the Final?”

Otabek shrugged. “I was planning to fly to Vancouver anyway.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Yuri asked, poking at his ice cream with his spoon.

“Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, congratulations, jerk,” Yuri grumbled, taking a spoonful of ice cream. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Otabek shrugged again, continuing to eat. Yuri sighed, glancing at Clara out of the corner of his eye as cookie dough ice cream smeared across her face. He reached into his pocket for his wallet, nudging it at her.

“Go pick out a flavor for your sister.”

“Okay!” Clara said brightly, reaching for his wallet. He grabbed her hand by the wrist before she could touch it, scrubbing at the palm of her hand with a napkin. Clara blinked at him in confusion, but endured the treatment, and leaped out of her seat when she was done to wander over to the counter. Yuri kept an eye on her just in case one of his fans got some crazy idea about kidnapping, but they seemed content to coo at her from a distance.

He looked back at Otabek.

“How’s the leg?” he asked, gesturing at it with his spoon before taking another scoop of ice cream.

“Fine,” Otabek said in response. “Doctor says it should be healed by the end of the season. I might even be able to do Worlds.”

A knot in his chest loosened just a little. Yuri exhaled, but bowed his head so that Otabek couldn’t see how relieved he really was. “Are you going to?”

“Don’t know. My coach says it’s my decision. The doctor doesn’t like it.”

“Huh.” Yuri took another scoop of ice cream, thinking. “Maybe don’t. Better safe than sorry.”

“Maybe,” said Otabek, and that was as much agreement as Yuri probably was going to get.

* * *

 

The men’s short program was on Thursday, and it concluded with Yurio scoring a minor lead over J.J. It was a lead that was just small enough to make all parties involved uncomfortable, so Yurio spent all of their allotted practice time on Friday practicing while doing his best to ignore thinly veiled taunts from J.J. on the other side of the rink. On Friday night, they gave Yurio the night off. Viktor took the girls—who were exhausted from a long day of sightseeing—back to the hotel while Phichit dragged Yuuri out to dinner insisting that he needed to be more sociable (with people who _couldn’t_ be considered his family).

Dinner turned into a walk around a shopping area while Phichit took selfies and looked for souvenirs for friends in Bangkok. Yuuri browsed things half-heartedly, occasionally making comments on items that Phichit showed him, until his attention was caught by a pair of necklaces on display at a jewelry store. He stared at them through the window, deciding that this was unfair, because he was the one who had told Viktor not to get a too-extravagant Christmas present for the girls—but also these were perfect. He looked over his shoulder for Phichit, but his Thai friend was thoroughly distracted by something on another shelf.

Making a decision, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, texting Viktor.

 _‘You weren’t planning on getting jewelry for the girls, were you?’_ he asked.

He wasn’t expecting an immediate response, but apparently Viktor was near his phone. A reply came almost instantly.

_‘No, was thinking the other thing was enough. Why?’_

Yuuri took a deep breath and snapped a picture of the necklaces through the shop window, sending it to Viktor. The seconds until Viktor responded seemed to stretch on endlessly.

Finally, he got a response: _‘ <3’_.

Yuuri exhaled, slipping his phone into his pocket, but he was smiling as he walked into the store.  

* * *

 

J.J. was taking the lead back.

Yuri stared at the screen from his seat backstage as the Canadian skater moved across the ice, feeding off of the cheers and energy of the audience as his technical score began to climb. There were only two of them left, him and J.J., and J.J.’s performance had only just begun, but Yuri could see the writing on the wall. J.J. was taking the lead back.

Unless of course, he made a mistake. The new, fearful side of him that had taken root in the back of his mind, the side of him that he had been doing his best to ignore for the past two years, the side of him that didn’t trust his body or know what he could do with it anymore, wanted him to. But that was a small part of him, because the rest of him, the relentless competitor, hated the idea. He wasn’t going to be the person who won just because J.J. made a mistake, just like he wasn’t going to be the person who only won because J.J. wasn’t competing. He wanted to defeat his opponents completely and totally.

He just wished that his heart would stop beating so fucking fast. Or that his vision would broaden to something larger than a tunnel. Or that the sound would come back on from wherever it had gone to and take away that relentless high-pitched noise, because holy shit.

“Yurio?” Yuuri asked, placing a hand on his arm. Yuri jerked away because dammit, he did _not_ want to be touched right now. Especially not if Yuuri was going to get all ‘it’s going to be okay, I understand your anxiety because honestly, I probably need to go see a shrink’. At other competitions, that had worked. This time, if Yuuri tried it, Yuri thought he was going to lose his goddamned mind.

He jerked to his feet, walking away. Viktor watched him from the other side of the hallway—he could feel the Russian man’s eyes on him even though Yuri wasn’t looking at them. From their seats near the T.V., Clara turned to look at him with curiosity, head tilted to the side, while Sonia looked from the screen to him with abject horror. He could read the expression on her face. She thought the competition was finished. Well, tough luck, Soneta, he thought. I’m not that easy to beat.

He could have done it if he were younger. If he could trust his goddamned body again. But now—

His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump. Yuri fished it out, glancing at the screen. It was a text from Otabek. An unusually wordy text from Otabek. Otabek’s preferred method of communication was to talk in short sentences, but Yuri knew that sometimes, he got to a point where he would blurt out something long and involved all at once.

This was probably one of those times.

 _‘You can do this, Yura,’_ the text read. _‘Calm down. Don’t lose your focus. I’m sure you will win. Good luck.’_

Yuri stared at the text, aware of the steady rhythm of his breathing. In and out. In and out. A thousand thoughts spun through his mind of things he could respond with—good-natured jabs that would have been offensive to anyone but the two of them ( _‘I don’t want to hear that from someone who got injured out of the competition, jerk’_ ), an actual heartfelt response (‘ _thanks man, I got this’)_ , a confession of just how freaking keyed-up he was right now _(‘I feel like I’m about to explode or throw up, thank you very much_ ’), something sarcastic ( _‘oh shit, he speaks’_ ), the opportunities were limitless.

And then an evil idea struck him, making him smile just a little.

 _‘K.’_ he responded.

There was a pause, and then the next message was a picture. It was Otabek sitting in the bleachers, his usual deadpan expression on his face and one of his hands held up in an obscene gesture.

Yuri couldn’t stop himself. He burst out laughing.

It was a deep, loud belly laugh. It started in his abdomen and burst out of his throat. He didn’t know if it was the nerves or what, but he was doubled over, arms wrapped around his waist as he laughed like a madman. There were actual _tears_ in his eyes, and Yuuri and Viktor were looking at each other in a panic, afraid that he had finally cracked.

* * *

 

The laughter helped. It helped _a lot_. It was hard to be nervous and tense when you had just finished laughing like that, hard to feel afraid or anxious when you were still grinning.

Catharsis. That was the stupidly academic word for what that was—a release. He’d gotten that in the past from being angry. Laughing was probably better for him. He was getting better at this, this whole functional human being thing. Not that he was ever going to be Phichit or one of those annoying giggly people, because _that_ would just be a crime.

He barely noticed the taunting look J.J. gave him as the Canadian slid off the ice to head to the kiss and cry, instead busying himself with taking off his jacket and guards. He handed the jacket to Viktor and the guards to Yuuri then paused at the edge of the ice, one hand braced on the rink wall. He nodded at Sonia, who watched him fearfully, and ran a hand over Clara’s head as he stepped out onto the ice and she giggled.

And then he was there, nothing but the frictionless glide of ice beneath his skates and a weird, intense sort of calm inside him. The audience faded away for a second, the cheers, the screens, the lights. He didn’t even see J.J.’s score.

He was home.

 _Ah,_ he thought as he took his starting place in the center of the rink. _That was why I started skating._ It had been easy to forget, in the competitions and the medals and the flying around the world and the endless frustration he’d felt over the past couple of years with his changing body.

It was because the ice was home.

He took his starting position and waited for the music to play.

_**[(Suggested Song, 0:00 - 4:30)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVDw4ADwbOM) ** _

This really wasn’t that hard, he thought as he started moving. The piece started off slow, and he could feel the music in his blood as he moved across the ice, could hear nothing but the scrape of his blades across the surface. He jumped and twirled and spun for the first minute in that all-encompassing silence. In the back of his mind, he was skating again in Russia, first in the children’s class, then at the novice level, then in juniors. He was becoming the Junior World Champion again, was winning gold in his first ever Grand Prix Final, was breaking records and making history.

And then things started changing. He started slipping in the rankings, never very far, but enough to be noticeable. Things didn’t fit right, movements didn’t feel right, he kept bumping into things. And he could feel the consideration of the commentators and the experts as they watched him, could feel them wondering if this was the end of his legacy, if he was going to be the last in a long line of promising young Russian boys who failed to live up to their potential when they started to become men. He’d been fighting against that for the past couple of years because he wasn’t some nameless face. He was _Yuri Plisetsky_.

Slowly, as if his body decided his mind could handle it now, the sound of the world came back in. He landed from a quad and heard the roar of the crowd, was aware of the bright lights and the screams of his fans. He skated past them and saw banners with his name on it—Cyrillic and English text both, saw Russian flags.

His fans. He considered them as he went into his step sequence. They were annoying as all get out, but sometimes, they weren’t all that bad. Like the time it was his birthday and they sent him enough pirozhkis to feed an orphanage, or yesterday, when one of them handed Clara a cat plushie and told her to throw it out onto the rink for them. He wondered if he could have gotten this far without them.

No, he thought, going into another jump. Probably not. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t an island. He’d been built up by so many people. His fans, who he’d thanked in the short program. His grandfather. Yakov and Lilia. Yuuko, Mari and the others in Japan. Viktor and Yuuri. Beka.

He couldn’t deny, out here on the ice, that he’d gotten where he was because of them.

And as he neared the last minute of his program, he found himself wondering something crazy. It was an idle thought, something he had practiced sometimes when he was going through his routines alone near his college, but wouldn’t it be interesting if he could show that somehow? He thought of what they would all say and snickered as he imagined their reactions. He knew he could do it. He was tired, but he could feel the potential in his gut. It was fire he could draw on to propel him through the last minute of the program.

He could do it. He was capable of that.

Barcelona had proven him capable of that. He’d drawn on that fire then, demanding everything his body could give him. And that fire hadn’t gone away as his body changed. It was the one thing that stayed the same.

Sure, he thought, listening as the music built up in the last minute. What the heck.

If he was going to lose again, might as well do it with a bang.

* * *

 

 _“—a quadruple flip?!”_ the commentator shouted, aghast. _“That wasn’t part of his program, ladies and gentlemen. As you all know, the quad flip is the signature move of Viktor Nikiforov—.”_

Viktor stared at Yurio on the ice, his eyes wide with shock. Beside him, Yuuri was practically leaning over the rink, wearing a similar expression on his face as Yurio skated out of that jump, moving in a way that definitely _wasn’t_ the way they had practiced it.

“What’s he doing?” Yuuri asked. “Viktor, what is he—?”

The sentence was cut off as Yurio jumped again, his teeth clenched in an expression of intense concentration as sweat beaded on his brow.

 _“—flawless triple axel,”_ he heard the commentator say. It was Yuuri’s favorite jump, and Yuuri’s jaw dropped as he understood, exactly at the same time as Viktor did, what Yurio was trying to do. _“Plisetsky is definitely off-program now. The Russian punk is living up to his name—.”_

But Viktor was barely listening to the narration. Yurio tied the axel into a combination, done with brutal efficiency like it had been practiced and perfected a thousand times before. That was Yakov. Viktor could see it now, looking at Yurio as he moved. Could see all the people that he was emulating, the lives that had touched him. That spin, the graceful arch of his spine, that was Lilia. That pose, as he swung by the rink wall to take in the audience, that was a callback to Agape, that was his grandfather Nikolai, that was Hasetsu and Japan and Yuuko and Mari. That change in expression in the last ten or fifteen seconds, that last movement, that was Samarkand Dances, that was Otabek. This was everyone and everything Yurio loved, and he knew from the sound of the cheers that other people had noticed it too.

And then he came to the end, exhausted, close to breaking and he brought his hands up in the start of a familiar gesture that made the crowd go wild with anticipation—because was he going to do it? Was he going to pay tribute to J.J. on the ice too?—but the music ended and he opened his hands and instead of ending with two J’s, he held his hands up to either side of him, forming a ‘Y’, one last gasp of defiance.

And then he was down on his knees on the ice in the silence after the free program and Viktor could breathe again.

He was aware, when he resumed breathing, that the crowd was cheering. He and Yuuri exchanged dumbfounded looks as they stared at Yurio on the ice, hunched over like he couldn’t move. He was just starting to be concerned when Yurio picked himself back up and started skating towards them.

From somewhere off to his left, he heard a soft voice. Sonia’s, while she stared at Yurio with rapt attention. If he hadn’t been listening, he might not have heard it.

“I want to do that…”

Viktor’s heart swelled with pride, and he placed a hand on the top of Sonia’s head.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

* * *

 

With a performance like that, how could Yurio not win gold? And not only had he won gold, he had broken two records—the first, Yuuri’s free skate record that Yurio had promised to beat three years ago, and the second, the record for highest total score, the last holdover from Viktor’s long and storied skating career. It hurt to see that record replaced, but it was a sweet pain because he was proud. He was so, so proud of him.

And a little annoyed, because what was the point of asking for a winning program if you weren’t even going to _skate_ it?

But the annoyance could wait until tomorrow. Yurio looked almost ready to drop, and indeed, after the last of the pictures were taken and the medals handed out, he slumped to the side and Yuuri had had to catch him. Viktor stayed behind to fend off the reporters as Yuuri took Yurio and the girls back to the hotel.

“Vitya,” a voice said from behind him as he watched the four of them leave.

Viktor turned around, surprised. Yakov was standing there, a frown on his face. He inclined his head towards a quiet corner of the rink, then started walking. Viktor followed him.

* * *

 

“Yuri is doing well,” Yakov said after a while, the two of them standing across from each other. “He’s growing up.”

“He is,” Viktor agreed, nodding.

“He still doesn’t listen to his coach,” Yakov noted.

“No,” said Viktor. “He doesn’t.”

“You’re the worst possible role model for that.”

Viktor chuckled, because it was true. “Yes,” he said, a hand at the back of his neck. “I guess I am.”

“Still,” Yakov admitted, scowling as if the words pained him. “You’re doing alright by those girls.”

“Thank you,” Viktor said, lowering his hand to his side. He met Yakov’s eyes, his expression becoming serious. “I’m trying.”

“Hm.” Yakov nodded at him, glancing away. “Don’t bother coming back to Russia this year, Vitya,” he said. “Stay home with your family. I’ll take care of Yuri.”

Viktor stood still at the words, his eyes widening. He couldn’t possibly have heard right, could he? But Yakov was walking away—

Something warm and wet stung at his eyes, trickling down his cheeks. He couldn’t contain himself. Viktor surged forward suddenly, wrapping his arms around his former coach.

“Thank you,” he said, in Russian. _“Thank you_.”

Yakov jerked in Viktor’s grasp, promptly regretting every decision he had ever made. Still, he placed a hand on the back of Viktor’s head and sighed, muttering something under his breath about over-emotional idiots.

* * *

 

**yuri-plisetsky**

**9,227 likes** 2h

 **yuri-plisetsky “** The king is dead. Long live the king.”


	12. Viktor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The translated interview with 15-year-old Viktor in the show had him with a poodle named Makkachin. Which means that Makkachin in the show is about 12-13 years old, really old for a standard poodle. Originally, I thought Makkachin might have been Viktor's second dog, but the translation of the interview suggests that the dog is the same Makkachin. Since this story was already written when I read that, I decided to go with my initial guess and just say the dog in the show is Makkachin II. Just in case anyone was wondering how this dog is still alive, lol. 
> 
> My sister gets extra points for doing some of the art in this chapter on the plane and in Chicago while we were stuck in a hellish loop of flight delays.

Yuri woke up to the sound of knocking at his hotel room door, feeling like he was going to die. He groaned as he opened his eyes, his mind zeroing in on the ache that had permeated his entire being. What was wrong with him? What had he done? He reached for his phone, which had blown up with notifications over the night.

— _oh,_ he thought, the memories of yesterday’s competition coming back to him. He glanced at the gold medal resting on his end table.

Oh, right.

The knock at his door sounded again.

“Yurio?” Yuuri asked. “Yurio, we’re coming in, alright?”

Before Yuri could even ask Yuuri and Viktor where they had gotten a key to his room in the first place, the door opened and his hotel room was flooded with people. Viktor, Yuuri, the girls and even the dog all filed into the room. Yuri groaned, turning over onto his side.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Viktor said, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “It’s time to get up.”

“Don’t want to,” Yuri muttered, pulling the comforter over his head and burrowing deeper into the mattress. “Everything hurts…”

“Come on, Yurio, you have to get up,” Yuuri said, and Yuri heard the sound of the curtains scraping against the curtain rod. Bright sunlight entered the room, visible even behind his closed eyelids. “It’s almost eleven. There’s still the gala and the banquet to go to today.”

Yuri groaned, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. He had almost forgotten about the gala. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Viktor said. “You have to.”

“Can’t you two skate it for me?” Yuri flopped over onto his stomach, mumbling the words into his pillow. “You can make it another pair skate, say it’s a special performance.”

“Yurio…” Yuuri began.

Somebody jumped onto the bed, and he felt small hands tug his comforter away from his face. Yuri opened his eyes to see Clara sitting on her heels by his head, grinning at him. He shot her a glare that didn’t seem to deter her at all.

“Time to get up, Yura!”

“Come on,” said Viktor, helping an irate Yuri sit up. “Painkillers, food, and a hot bath. You’ll feel better soon.”

Yuri didn’t believe that at all, but he let Viktor pull him into a sitting position, accepting the bottle of water that Sonia handed him. Makkachin nosed at his hand and Yuri shot the dog a glare that only made his tail wag faster. Yuri rolled his eyes. _This_ was why he was a cat person.

Viktor sent the girls to the bathroom to start the bath while Yuuri tied the curtains back and started nudging the dirty clothes that were strewn across the floor into a single pile. It was a mark of the occasion that neither of them said anything about the state of the room. Yuuri gave him a sympathetic smile, looking up at him.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked.

Yuri paused, turning the bottle of water over in his hand. He lowered his eyes to the sheets, embarrassed.

“I can find some pirozhkis…” Yuuri began.

“…Katsudon,” Yuri muttered, feeling warmth spread across his cheeks.

Yuuri fell silent.

When Yuri looked up, his eyes were shining from behind his glasses. Yuri’s eyes widened, because he was _not_ going to be able to handle it if Yuuri started crying. Thankfully, instead of crying, Yuuri blinked quickly, turning away.

When he spoke, his voice sounded choked with emotion. “Okay…”

* * *

 

While Yuuri left to find katsudon, Viktor helped Yuri to the bath. Clara giggled as she ran out of the bathroom, Sonia trailing shyly along behind her. Just before Viktor closed the door, Yuri caught a glimpse of the younger girl making a flying leap onto the bed. He heard the TV go on shortly after, the happy tones of some children’s show echoing from the bedroom.  

Once he was in the hot water, he felt almost human again. Yuri leaned back against the tub wall, his mind drifting back to Hasetsu, to evenings spent in the hot springs. He wrapped his arms around his knees and tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling. Viktor stood with his back to him, rearranging toiletries on the bathroom counter.

“Feel better?” Viktor asked.

“A little bit.”

“Well, I’m not surprised that you’re sore,” said Viktor, and Yuri could see his smile in the bathroom mirror as he arranged combs and toothbrushes into neat lines. The smile faded, his expression growing thoughtful. “Yesterday…what brought that on?”

Yuri thought back to yesterday’s performance. That moment on the ice felt like it had been a world away, like it had happened to someone else. He sank down into the bathwater, a little embarrassed, and rested his chin on his knees.

“I did your jump first,” he said after a while, turning his head to the side and grumbling the words to the bathroom wall. “That was the hardest one, and after that I kind of figured I had to do everyone else or it would be weird. Like who knew what was going through your head? I didn’t want you to try to kiss me or anything.”

Viktor snorted softly, his lip quirking in a small smile as he arranged bottles against the mirror. “You’re going to regret this when you’re thirty.”

“Speaking from experience, old man?”

“Thin ice, Yurio,” Viktor said, the corner of his lip quirking up in a brittle smirk. “Very thin ice.” Viktor paused in his neatening, resting his hands on the countertop. The smile faded from his face, his expression growing thoughtful. Yuri braced himself for the lecture he knew was coming.

“I’m proud of you,” he said. “But never do that again.”

Yuri nodded mutely, too tired to argue. For a moment, Viktor looked like he might say more, but he shook his head instead.

“Take some aspirin after you eat, and don’t do any jumps during the exhibition today. People will understand.”  

Yuri nodded, sinking down into the bath as Viktor left the room. He heard Viktor jokingly tell the girls to look after him, and then he heard the hotel room’s door close as well. Yuri sighed and closed his eyes, trying to relax.

He had just barely succeeded when Clara started knocking on the bathroom door, giggling loudly while Sonia tried to chase her away.

* * *

 

He didn’t know how Yuuri managed it (as far as he knew, the room Viktor had rented for himself, Yuuri, the girls and the dog did not come with a kitchen), but he came back with a bowl of katsudon, a pair of chopsticks, some water and aspirin, and red-rimmed eyes. He also came back with Otabek, who Yuuri claimed had been hanging around the hotel lobby when he came back in. Clara immediately leaped up from her place on the bed as Otabek walked in.

“It’s Beka!” she yelled, a grin spreading across her face.

Apparently, buying Clara ice cream was a surefire way into her heart. Sonia, however, hesitated, sitting on the edge of the bed with the TV remote in her hands, and looked from Otabek to Yuri to Otabek again before lowering her eyes to the floor.

“Here,” Yuuri said, handing him the bowl of katsudon and the chopsticks. “Eat.”

Yuri ate, deciding not to question Yuuri’s apparent katsudon-procuring superpowers as Otabek lowered himself carefully into the hotel room’s armchair. A kid’s show was playing on the television, something dumb about a brown bear, but both Otabek and the girls protested when he tried to change the channel, so Yuri rolled his eyes and left it on. He eyed Makkachin warily as he ate. The poodle was sitting directly in front of him, eyes fixed on his bowl of katsudon with laser focus. Yuri made a show of turning away, and Makkachin actually _whined._

“Oh come on,” Yuri told the dog. “It’s not like nobody feeds you. I’ve seen everyone slip you treats.”

Makkachin whined again. So Yuri rolled his eyes and gave him the bowl when he was done.

Whatever. He was feeling generous today.

“Do I have to go to the banquet?” he asked Yuuri, who was sitting at the desk chair checking something on his phone.

“Yes,” Yuuri said, giving him a quick smile. “If I have to go, you have to go.”

“Don’t act like it’s such a chore,” said Yuri, rolling his eyes. “You and Viktor are just going to be all over each other again. Blech.” Yuuri flushed, but didn’t deny it, going back to whatever he was doing on his phone. Yuri frowned. “Wait a minute, if you’re both going, who’s babysitting the brats?”

“I am,” Otabek said from his spot on the armchair.

“What?” Yuri looked at him in surprise. “Since when?”

“Last night,” said Otabek, shrugging. “After you passed out.”

“Was this Viktor’s idea?” Yuri asked. “It sounds like Viktor’s idea.”

“Does it matter?” Otabek asked.

“Beka looks scary but he’s nice!” Clara told Sonia, who was hugging a pillow close to herself and trying very hard not to be noticed. “He bought me ice cream yesterday!”

“Um…I’m sure he is, Clara…” Yuri heard Sonia mumble.

“Well, whatever,” Yuri said. “Only two good things about the banquet tonight—I’ll get to see J.J. look all heartbroken and I can finally get a drink.”

Yuuri looked up from his seat on the desk chair. “The drinking age in British Columbia is 19.”

“Seriously?” Yuri asked. “What the—,” –his gaze slid towards Sonia and Clara—, “—heck? Beka, buy me drinks later!”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Yuuri, deliberately looking back down at his phone. “But if you _do_ decide to do what I didn’t hear, be safe, don’t drive, and don’t get arrested.”

“Yura, if you get arrested, you have to stay in Canada,” said Clara, rolling over onto her back with her head hanging off of the foot of the bed. She grinned at him. “Can I have your stuff?”

Yuri reached out a hand and shoved her hard in the side. Clara laughed, rolling back over as he got to his feet. 

* * *

 

Yuri woke up the next day with no idea where he was, no memory of the night before, and wondering who the hell was playing some ridiculous love song on repeat. He opened his eyes, saw sunlight and an unfamiliar ceiling, and closed them again. He still ached all over, and he wondered what had possessed him to make it worse by adding a headache to the ache in the rest of his body.

He opened his eyes slowly, trying to take stock of his surroundings. He was lying on the ground in what looked like a big living room, resting on the carpet. A frat house? Had he seriously wandered into some frat party somewhere? He knew there was a pretty big university in Vancouver.

That was where he was, right? Vancouver?

He turned his head slowly to the right, hearing snoring, and groaned. J.J. was passed out on his side, snoring loudly. What the hell had happened last night? He remembered the banquet, remembered trying to cajole one of the officials into letting him have a drink (“I know you, you’re Swiss. I’m legal in Switzerland, come on—”) and then the banquet was over and he left to find Otabek and then—

—Wait? Was Otabek here too?

Yuri completed his circuit of the room, letting out a sigh of relief. Otabek occupied the couch to his left, his injured leg propped up on the couch’s arm and his eyes closed.

“Beka…” Yuri said, his voice coming out broken and hoarse. “Beka.”

Otabek groaned, eyes opening just a crack.

“Please don’t tell me we went out drinking with J.J. last night,” Yuri said.

“Okay,” Otabek mumbled, closing his eyes again.

A phone buzzed next to his head. Yuri groped for it, blinking blearily at the screen as he realized it wasn’t his own. The words were in English instead of Russian, and that wasn’t his background image. He focused on the screen and snickered.

“Fifteen missed calls from Isabella,” he said. “You’re a dead man, Leroy.”

J.J. let out a particularly loud snore in response, dead to the world.

The phone went off again, and the source of the obnoxious love song was suddenly clear. Yuri answered it, pressing the phone to his ear, and instantly regretted it as a high-pitched voice started shouting on the other side. He winced, pain lancing straight through his skull.

“Ow,” he said. “Stop screeching, woman, I’m not him.”

There was a pause, and then Isabella started speaking, her words clipped and measured.

 _“Is this Yuri Plisetsky?”_ she asked.

“Yeah,” Yuri said. “It’s Yuri.”

Another pause while Isabella worked through that. Yuri tried to will the pain in his temples to go away.

 _“Is he still alive?”_ Isabella asked.

Yuri poked J.J. with his foot. The Canadian skater snorted and let out another loud exhale. “Yeah,” he said. “He’s alive.”

_“Where are you?”_

“I have no fucking clue,” Yuri said. “Beka, where are we?”

Otabek threw an arm over his eyes, but held up his phone, his map app showing their location. Yuri squinted at it and read the address off to Isabella.

 _“Okay,”_ she said. _“I’ll come get him._ ”

“Okay,” Yuri said. He paused, on the edge of hanging up, and added. “Actually, since you’re coming to get him anyway, can you give us a ride?”

* * *

 

That was how he and Otabek had ended up in the backseat of J.J’s rental car, being driven back to the hotel by a very irate Isabella Leroy while J.J. himself snored in the front seat. Overall, Yuri thought as he got out of the car, it was not his proudest moment. Although, he thought, leaning against the hotel wall and catching his breath, at least he wasn’t J.J. right now. He did _not_ envy him.

Considering his own phone had several missed calls on it (from Yuuri; Viktor left one missed call and a text message cheerfully reminding him that checkout was at noon), Yuri didn’t envy himself very much either.

Otabek wasn’t doing much better.

“Congratulations,” he said, holding out a hand to Yuri as they stood outside the lobby doors. 

Yuri took the hand, clasping it tightly. “Don’t think you got off that easy, Altin,” he said. “Next year, I better see you on that podium.”

Otabek nodded. “It’s a promise,” he said.

Yuri nodded back, releasing Otabek’s hand and walking through the hotel doors. If this were a movie, it would have been a perfect dramatic moment, the wind in his hair and the sun on his back as the hotel doors slid open in front of him. He managed to keep his back straight, hands in his pockets as he walked through, and then once he was out of sight of the entrance, the illusion broke and he rested on hand on the lobby wall as he tried not to throw up.

Then that whole display was rendered pointless as Otabek walked through the doors and Yuri remembered that he was also staying at this hotel.

“We are so uncool,” Yuri complained under his breath as they staggered towards the elevator together.

* * *

 

They celebrated on Christmas Eve.

After a large dinner, the girls were set loose into the backyard with sparklers—which Leo had mentioned being a feature of his childhood Christmases. The two of them were running around in their party dresses, waving brightly colored streams through the air while Makkachin barked and ran at their heels. Yuuri watched them from the kitchen doorway, happy to see even Sonia enjoying herself. The bright lights warmed his heart, reminding him of beachside summers in Hasetsu.

Someday, he thought, maybe even this coming summer, he’d take the girls to Hasetsu and they’d all head down to the beach and play in the water together. They would be in Japan in March for Worlds, but it would be too cold then.

Once he was assured the girls were enjoying themselves and were safe, he stepped back into the house to wait for midnight. Inside, it was quiet and dark, the only lights coming from soft lamps and the string of lights that decorated their Christmas tree. Soft Russian sounded from the living room, the livestream of the Russian Nationals hooked up to their TV. It wasn’t time yet for Yurio’s performance, but when it was, they would all be watching. Yuuri pulled the Christmas cake he had bought out of the fridge and set it on the countertop, musing as he tried to find something to cut it with that he could get used to this, even if the timing of the Russian Nationals meant that they would have to content themselves with late celebrations and holiday plane rides for the next seven or eight years or so.

He had just finished plating two slices of cake when Viktor came down from the attic, walking into the kitchen. 

“The girls’ present is ready?” Yuuri asked, handing him a slice of cake.

They had taken to speaking in code about the mysterious ‘present’, even when neither of the girls were around to hear them. One of the first things they had discovered after taking Sonia and Clara in was that children had an incredible talent for eavesdropping—nothing secret in this house was secret for long.

“Just about,” Viktor said. “It’s waiting upstairs.”

He took the cake and a fork, leaning back against the kitchen table and watching the girls through the window. Yuuri followed his gaze, thinking back on how much their lives had changed in less than a year. A year ago, braving the chill of a Russian winter with Yurio and Viktor, he would never have imagined this.

But life with Viktor really was a never-ending chain of surprises.

Yuuri set his half-eaten cake aside. “Hey,” he said. “Guess what.”

Viktor tore his eyes away from the girls to look back at him and the way his eyes reflected the Christmas lights took Yuuri’s breath away. Yuuri swallowed, his mouth going dry as he started walking across the space between them. Viktor smiled at him, setting his own slice of cake down.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s your birthday in Russia.”

“Is that so?” said Viktor, a gleam in his eyes as Yuuri’s hand slipped behind his neck, fingertips tangling themselves in platinum hair. “Are you going to give me a present?”

Yuuri didn’t trust himself to respond, so instead, he put pressure on the back of Viktor’s neck, easing him down slowly. Viktor laughed softly, leaning into the kiss.

* * *

 

At midnight, they gathered around the tree for presents. Yuuri and Viktor handed the girls their small presents first, the necklaces that Yuuri had bought for them in Vancouver. They were little golden hearts, a set of two, with Sonia’s heart pendant slightly larger than Clara’s because she was older. A pink gemstone gleamed brilliantly inside one of the curves of each heart.

While the girls were admiring the jewelry and Clara was insisting that Yuuri help her put hers on, Viktor left to get their other present. He returned from the attic with a big box, one that Makkachin sniffed at excitedly, his tail wagging. Viktor nudged the dog away as gently as he was able, smiling. Makkachin had been very excited when Viktor had brought the present home, and Viktor knew that out of all of them, he was probably the most excited to see it opened.

Clara’s eyes went round when she saw what he was holding and she stood up, her necklace momentarily forgotten. “Another present?” she asked.

“It’s from Santa,” Viktor said, setting the present down on the ground. “He worked very hard to find this and bring it all the way from the North Pole. Open it quickly, girls. It won’t keep for very long.”

Clara fell upon the present with relish as Sonia hovered just over her shoulder, watching as the younger girl tore the wrapping paper away. She was reaching for the lid when the box shuffled around on the carpet, letting out a soft yelp. Clara’s eyes widened in realization, her mouth falling open in wonder, and Viktor would have paid any amount of money to see that look on her face again.

“No…” she said, disbelief in her voice.

“Open it,” said Viktor.

Clara lifted the lid with uncharacteristic slowness, her hands shaking. Before she could get the lid all the way off, a poodle puppy poked her head out of the box, a red bow tied around her neck in place of a collar. Clara let out a high-pitched scream and picked the puppy up, holding her close while the puppy barked and started licking her face enthusiastically.

“She was very excited to meet you both,” Viktor said, smiling at Clara and the puppy.

“I love her, I love her, I love her, she’s beautiful, _thank you_!” Clara said, the words coming out in an excited rush as she hugged the puppy close. She was grinning from ear-to-ear, happy tears trickling down her cheeks that the puppy was all too happy to lick away.

Viktor exchanged a glance with Yuuri. The poodle pup was supposed to be a present to both girls, but within seconds of meeting her, they had both already known that the puppy would bond particularly well with Clara. Hopefully the rest of their present would make up for it.

Yuuri edged closer to Viktor as Clara tried to introduce the barking puppy to Sonia.

“Look!” Clara yelled, as Sonia watched them with uncertainty across her features. “They got us a _puppy_!” Makkachin barked, sniffing at the puppy with tail wagging while from across the room, Yurio’s cat (who Clara had dragged out from the basement to watch Yurio’s performance earlier) stalked away, looking incredibly affronted.

“You realize we just got _ourselves_ a puppy,” Yuuri said under his breath, draping his arm across Viktor’s back.

“I know,” Viktor said, watching the two of them. “I don’t really care.”

Yuuri’s smile suggested that he didn’t care either.

“What are you going to name her, Clara-chan?” Yuuri asked.

Clara frowned, holding the wriggling puppy out at arm’s length to consider her. “Hmm…well, she’s brown like Makkachin,” Clara said. “And like coffee. I’m going to name her Latte!”

“That’s a perfect name,” said Yuuri.

He pulled away from Viktor to help Clara with the puppy. Viktor turned to Sonia, who was watching the scene with the same look of cautious uncertainty that she watched everything with.

“There’s more, Sonechka,” he said, his expression softening. “Look in the box.”

Sonia turned towards him, hesitant, but at his direction she pulled off the remaining wrapper, looking in the box. Inside was a large brown envelope, nestled in a pile of holiday tissue wrappers.

She pulled the envelope out, carefully opening it and withdrawing a slim stack of legal papers.

Sonia read the first line and then her eyes widened, her hands starting to shake. Viktor watched her, trying to read her expression.

“Do you know what those are, Sonechka?” he asked.

Sonia’s mouth opened, closed, and opened before she found her voice. “They’re a-adoption papers,” she said. “For me and Clara.”

Viktor smiled. From behind her, Yuuri looked up, smiling as well. He got to his feet.

“Welcome to the family, Sonia-chan,” he said.

* * *

 

Sometime after all the presents were put away, while Clara was still playing with Latte and Yuuri was trying to convince her to go to bed, Sonia vanished into her room. Viktor hesitated before following, not sure whether or not he was wanted. After a moment, he stopped outside her door, hand raised to knock.

He paused, listening to the sounds from inside the room.

Sonia was crying.

Viktor drew in a deep breath and knocked once on the door.

“Sonechka?” he said. “I’m coming in.”

There was no response. Viktor opened the door slowly. He stepped into the room to find Sonia lying on her side on the bed, her back to him. She was crying and trying to stifle the sounds, her shoulders heaving with small sobs as she hugged a pillow close to her chest.

He walked up to the bed. “…Sonechka?” he asked, reaching for her shoulder.

Sonia flinched from the touch and Viktor quickly pulled his hand away. He stared at her, feeling helpless. Shudders wracked her small frame, and she pulled the pillow closer to her face.

He didn’t know what to do or what she wanted. So he started to turn away.

_“Papa…”_

The word stopped him. It was spoken into the air between them, a plaintive, broken sound, almost a whine.

His breath caught in his throat. Viktor looked back at her, but Sonia only doubled over, pulling her knees up close to her chest.

He knew then, watching her, that he couldn’t leave her. He would never be able to leave her.

Viktor placed a hand on her shoulder, and when she didn’t pull away, he peeled back the blanket, lying on the bed next to her and holding her close while she cried.

“Shh,” he said, smoothing the hair out of her face from behind. “I’m here, Sonechka. Papa’s here. I’m never going to leave you.”

Sonia whimpered and let go of the pillow. She turned over, pressing her face into his chest, and started crying in earnest. Tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking through the fabric of his shirt. She started shaking, letting out little animal cries as she clutched at him.

“Papa…” she mumbled, breathless and ragged. _“Papa…_ ”

Viktor held her closer, placing one hand on the back of her head. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and closed his eyes, fighting off his own tears.

“Shh…” he said, “I’m here, Sonechka. I’m never going to leave you. Never ever…”

* * *

 


	13. Kintsugi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, welcome to the last chapter of this story! For those of you wondering what happens next, don’t worry! There will be a sequel, eventually, so just subscribe to my account (for Fanfiction dot net readers) or subscribe to the series (for AO3) readers, and I’ll update you as soon as there’s new content! There may also be a oneshot collection for a bit of pointless domestic fluff, if I can push myself to go write it.

Yuuri sighed tiredly, turning around in his seat to look at the children who were seated in the back seat of the car. “I’m just saying there had to be a better way to handle that, Clara-chan.”

“But he was _pushing me_!” Clara insisted, tightening her grip on the travel pillow on her lap. Beside her, Sonia was doing her best impression of a wall decoration, her head propped up in her hand as she looked out the window and tried to pretend she wasn’t there.

“But you got detention,” said Yuuri. “And a note sent home from your teacher.”

“But he _pushed_ me,” said Clara. “So why didn’t _he_ get detention?”

“He did—,” Yuuri began.

“—I have to see him in _detention_?!” Clara interrupted. “This keeps getting worse! Can we just stay in Japan, Dad?”

Yuuri exhaled, summoning up what was left of his patience. It was a little more difficult than it should have been. “No,” he said. “We can’t just stay in Japan. You have to go back to school after Worlds.”

“But why do I have to go to detention?”

“Because, Clara, you hit him in the face.”

“He was _pushing me_!” Clara said, frowning at Yuuri like she couldn’t believe he wasn’t getting this. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Did you try talking to him?” Yuuri asked.

“I did!”

“What did you say?”

“I told him ‘stop pushing me’. And he said ‘why? Are you gonna tell a teacher?’. And I said, ‘no, but if you push me again, I’m going to hit you in the face.’.”

“And then?” Yuuri prompted.

“He pushed me!” said Clara. “So I hit him in the face!”

“You know, I’m starting to think Klaroshka has a point,” Viktor said from the driver’s seat as the car pulled into the airport’s long-term parking garage.

“That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time,” Yurio grumbled from the backseat, staring down at his phone. “But you know, no one listens to me.”

Yuuri shot him an impatient look, but sighed, turning his attention back to Clara. The little girl was watching him uncertainly from her seat, as if she wasn’t sure whether or not she was still in trouble. He shook his head.

“I’m not going to scold you for standing up for yourself, Clara-chan,” Yuuri said. “But you can’t solve all of your problems by hitting people in the face.”

“Why not?” Clara asked. “It worked!”

“It worked this time,” Yuuri said. “Next time, it might be different.”

“What he’s saying is that you should always try to solve things a different way first,” Viktor said, glancing at them in the rearview mirror as he pulled the car into a parking spot. “Most people aren’t six-year-old boys. They can be reasoned with.”

“And if they won’t listen?” Clara asked.

“Sometimes it’s better to just walk away if you can.”

“And if you can’t?” Clara asked. “Like, what if they won’t let you walk away?”

“Then whatever happens next is their own damn fault,” Yurio said, not looking up from his phone.

_“Yurio!”_

“What?!” Yurio asked, looking at Yuuri. “ _Damn_ is like, barely a curse word!”

Yuuri sighed, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car. The girls filed out of the backseat, Sonia quietly going over to pull hers and Clara’s suitcases from the back as Clara wrapped her arms around her travel pillow, staring down at the floor of the parking garage.

“Am I still in trouble for getting detention?” she asked, not looking at him.

Yuuri watched her for a moment, warring with himself. “No,” he said finally, placing a hand on Clara’s back to guide her towards the slowly growing pile of luggage behind their car. “But…maybe we don’t mention this to your grandmother when we see her?”

Clara perked up immediately, smiling brightly. She was still getting used to the idea that she had more family in Japan—grandparents, an aunt, and people like the Nishigoris and Minako, who were so close to the family that they might as well have been aunts, uncles and cousins—but she was clearly excited about it.

“Okay!” she said, skipping over to her bags. “I want to carry Latte’s carrier!”

* * *

 

“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about anyone ever pushing her around,” Viktor said to Yuuri, while they were checking their bags and Clara was saying a tearful goodbye to Latte through the doors of her carrier. Makkachin, already an old hand at air travel, had curled up in his carrier and barely stirred as the airport staff picked it up to take it away.

Yuuri frowned, but Viktor could tell that he wasn’t entirely displeased by the prospect. “I blame Yurio,” he said, only half-joking. “We both know she didn’t get that idea herself.”

“Hey, I told her to push him back and tell me so I could deal with it,” Yurio said, tapping out another message on his phone. “I didn’t tell her to punch him in the nose and make him cry like a baby in front of the entire playground. That was all on her.”

He sounded almost proud. Viktor smiled, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders as Yuuri gave Yurio a disapproving look.

* * *

 

It wasn’t the girls’ first time on an airplane—that was the flight they had had to take to get from San Francisco to Oregon in the first place—but it _was_ their first international flight, and they were very obviously excited about it. Sonia stared out the window in wonder as the ground gave way to nothing but ocean beneath them, and Clara alternated between looking out the window and swiveling around in her seat to ask Yuuri more questions about Japan.

“It’s going to be nighttime when we get there?” Clara asked.

“That’s right,” Yuuri said. “It’s going to be about seven in the evening.”

“We’re going to see where you grew up?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said. “We will. You’re going to get to meet your grandparents.”

“And my aunt too, right?”

“She’ll be there too,” said Yuuri.

“Do my grandparents speak any English?” Clara asked.

“Hmm…only a little bit. Your aunt speaks English, though.”

“That’s okay,” said Clara. “I’m going to learn Japanese, so I’ll be able to talk to them!”

“Klaroshka, do you know what you’re going to say to your grandparents when you get there?” Viktor asked, leaning forward from his seat beside Sonia, one row behind Yuuri and Clara.

“Um…no,” said Clara. “What do I say to them?”

“You say _‘konbanwa_ ’,” Yuuri said, smiling at her. “That means ‘good evening’.”

Clara frowned in thought, trying to get her mind around the unfamiliar syllables. “Cone _-ban-wa?”_ she asked.

“Close,” Yuuri said. “It’s more like _kon_ banwa.”

Clara’s brow furrowed and she repeated the word to herself a handful of times. From behind her, Viktor nudged Sonia in the side. She jumped, startled and turned to face him.

“What about you, Sonechka?” he asked. “Can you say it?”

“Um…” Sonia looked away uncertainly, face flushing. _“Konbanwa?”_

“Yes, Sonia-chan!” said Yuuri, turning around to face her. “That’s perfect!”

From his seat across the aisle from them, Yuri scowled, deciding that they were all disgustingly happy. He plugged his phone into the in-seat power outlet, scrolling through social media (because there was no way he was going to suffer through an international flight without internet access). There were the usual pictures from fellow competitors preparing to head off to Worlds, messages from his fans, Phichit’s endless stream of selfies (really, why did he _follow_ the Thai skater anyway), and weirdly enough, a post from his roommate.

It was a picture of Mason and Susanna, sitting down on what looked like the floor of their dorm room with their backs to one of the beds. The caption was _‘@yuri-plisetsky left early for #Worlds2019, so we’ll be cheering him on from here’._

Speaking of sickeningly sweet.

Yuri scowled, but liked the post anyway, typing out a quick comment.

_‘You two are disgusting and better not go near my side of the room’._

His phone buzzed a second later. He glanced down to see a message from Susanna’s account.

_‘Thanks, @yuri-plisetsky. We love you too.’_

* * *

 

The girls’ energy ran out a few hours into the flight across the Pacific, although they perked up a bit when they landed in Haneda. They took the opportunity to go through customs there, and the girls spent some time marveling about the Japanese writing everywhere and the differences in currency, food, and language before they succumbed to jetlag and passed out in the seats at their gate. They were awake again for the flight to Fukuoka and spent almost the entirety of that flight pressed up against the window, watching the country pass by beneath them. By the time they arrived at Fukuoka Airport, it was late afternoon Japan time, just past midnight Portland time, and the girls’ sleep schedules were thoroughly screwed. Watching them, Yuuri knew they were going to have a hell of a time getting them to go to sleep at a decent hour tonight, but he was glad that they were going to be awake when they met the rest of his family.

His feelings for that encounter were a mixture of excitement and anxiety. He wanted it to go well, but couldn’t shake the small part of his mind that worried about everything that could possibly go wrong. Sonia still wasn’t comfortable around new people and Clara was loud, active and boisterous. What if they didn’t all get along? Or what if his parents thought he was a bad father? Or that he and Viktor weren’t cut out to be parents?

“Yuuri, relax,” Viktor said, slipping an arm around his shoulders as they went to get the dogs. “You’re worrying again.”

Yuuri jerked in Viktor’s hold and exhaled, unaware of how tense he had been until Viktor pointed it out.

“I’m just thinking about later,” he said. “I want everything to go well.”

“It will.” Viktor pressed a kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head, smiling, and Yuuri flushed with embarrassment when he remembered that they were in Japan, where displays like that weren’t exactly appropriate. Viktor didn’t seem to care though, and he brought out a side of Yuuri that wanted not to care either. “Think about it. Your family loves _Yurio_. How could they not love our girls?”

Yuuri drew in a breath, but he could already feel himself start to relax. He nodded, trying to will the knot in his belly away.

From somewhere behind them, Yurio looked up. “Hey,” he said. “I resent being the bad example.”

Yuuri laughed. Viktor pulled him closer and looked back over his shoulder, giving Yurio a smile. “Then you should stop acting like one,” he said.

Yurio opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by a high-pitched squeal as Clara ran forward—apparently, she had spotted Latte’s carrier.

“Latte, my love, did you miss me?” Clara cooed through the bars as Latte rested her paws against them, barking happily and wagging her tail. Behind Latte was the wreckage of whatever toy they had placed into the carrier with her, but Clara barely seemed to notice. “Who’s the best dog in the world? Who’s the sweetest? You are! You are!”

A breeze tugged a stray piece of stuffing out of the carrier. Yurio winced.

* * *

 

A few hours later, they parked the car outside Yu-topia and walked in, carrying their things and dogs with them. As soon as the car was locked and they were all moving, Viktor dropped his bag and ran into the inn, the movement so sudden that Yuuri had to rush to keep up with him.

“Mama Katsuki!” Viktor called, speaking in halting Japanese as he ducked into the kitchen with a grin on his face. He dodged Yuuri’s attempt to grab at him, laughing. “Save me! Your son doesn’t feed me! I’m _starving_!”

“Lies!” Yuuri said, chasing after him. “Whatever he’s telling you, he’s lying!”

Hiroko Katsuki smiled from where she was standing next to the dinner table, waiting with the rest of Yuuri’s family.

“Welcome back, Vicchan,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll make an extra-large katsudon just for you.”

* * *

 

After that entrance, it was hard for Yuuri to feel worried about introducing the girls. And as it turned out, he didn’t need to worry at all. As soon as Clara and Sonia crossed the threshold and Sonia mumbled a shy ‘konbanwa’ under her breath, her eyes on the floor, Yuuri could have sworn his mother started seeing stars. His mother fussed over her new grandchildren, taking their things and seating them at the dinner table despite the three of them barely having a language in common.

Seeing his mother try to speak English to the girls while Clara happily showed off all the Japanese she knew—mostly numbers, the days of the week, please, thank you, and the word for bathroom—and Sonia tried to get her meaning across with gestures and the occasional shake of her head made him feel the same sort of giddy warmth that he had felt upon seeing the girls’ adoption papers for the first time. He remembered Clara saying on the plane that she wanted to learn Japanese and in that moment he could see it, could see Clara and Sonia sitting here, speaking to his parents in their own language.

He made a mental note to find the girls a teacher when they got back, so that that moment could happen for real.

But for now, they sat down to eat his mother’s cooking, while Mari fussed over Yurio and his father told Viktor with no small amount of excitement how many more people would be staying at the inn now that it was Worlds and they were here.

Yuuri took a bite of the katsudon his mother set out in front of him and smiled.

It tasted like coming home.

* * *

 

After dinner, they took time to soak in the hot spring, then headed back into the living room to talk and catch up. Toshiya dug up a bottle of sake from somewhere in the inn’s stores, and Yuuri refused the cup that Viktor tried to pour for him with an upraised hand and an embarrassed smile, sitting back at the low table to talk with his mother. A little later on, Mari led the girls back into the room, now dressed in the inn’s yukatas with their hair damp from the bath. Clara giggled and immediately dropped down to the space beside him, pressing herself against his side.

“Auntie Mari took us to the bath,” she said. “It was sooo big and sooo warm!” Her eyelids were beginning to droop. Yuuri gave it about ten minutes until she fell asleep.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Clara said, closing her eyes. “I got to look at the stars. Auntie said the cherry blossoms will bloom soon—I want to see that. And Sonia fainted.”

Sonia, who was hesitantly taking a seat across from Yuuri, straightened up. “I did not!” she said in protest, looking at her little sister.

“Yes, she did,” said Clara, snuggling sleepily into Yuuri’s side. “She stayed in the water too long and _phew—_ she went all spinny.”

“Don’t worry, Sonechka,” Viktor said, one of his hands still holding on to the bottle of sake. “Yurio fainted the first time he got in the hot spring too.”

“What? I did not!” Yurio said, looking up from where he was sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, trying to push the dogs away from him.

“Did something happen?” Yuuri’s father asked in Japanese, looking around at them.

“In the bath, Sonia faint,” Viktor replied before Yuuri could, taking another sip of sake. He smiled. “All okay now.”

“Oh, I know just the thing!” his mother said, getting to her feet. “Fruit milk! I’ll get some fruit milk for the girls. Would you like that, Sonia-chan?” She smiled at Sonia, repeating the words in halting English. “Frutto miruku?”

“Um—,” Sonia began, looking at Yuuri in panic.

“You know, like chocolate milk,” Yuuri said. “Except fruit flavored. It’s good.”

“Oh—,” said Sonia. “Um—okay. _Hai._ Uh— _onegaishimasu?”_

Hiroko hummed happily at that, going off into the kitchen. From her seat at his side, Clara lifted her head sleepily. “Me too…” she mumbled. “Tell her me too.”

“I think you’re ready to go to sleep, Klaroshka,” Viktor said, smiling at her.

“Mm-hmm,” Clara said, lying back against Yuuri’s side. “Sleepy now.”

His mother returned a few minutes later with glasses of milk for the girls, while Yuuri was answering texts from Minako and Yuuko, who both wanted to meet the girls tomorrow. Clara took a few sips of milk before curling up on the floor, her head resting on Yuuri’s knee. He ran his fingers through her hair absently while he read through the messages.

“Minako-sensei wants to meet the girls tomorrow,” he said to Viktor in English. “Yuuko-chan and Nishigori too.”

“Mm—well, we can see Minako anytime,” said Viktor. “We should probably introduce her to Sonechka.” At Sonia’s questioning glance, Viktor added. “She was Yuuri’s ballet teacher. I’m sure she’ll want to meet you.”

“Okay,” Sonia said, taking a sip of her milk. “Um—I want to meet her too.”

“And as for Yuuko…” said Viktor. “Hmm…why don’t we go to Ice Castle? It’s been a while, and Yurio could use some practice too.” Yurio perked up when he heard his name, trying to pretend like he hadn’t been falling asleep with his head resting on Makkachin’s torso. Makkachin licked at him happily as he sat up.

“Sure,” Yuuri said. “That sounds good. I’ll tell her that.” He turned towards Sonia, who was still watching the exchange. “Ice Castle is the rink I started skating at,” he said. “It’s where I practiced, when Viktor first started coaching me.”

“Before we moved to St. Petersburg,” Viktor said. “Ah, that brings back memories.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” said Mari, getting up. “The teapot you sent me is fixed. Let me go get it.”

She left the room and came back, the teapot in her hand. Yuuri’s eyes widened when he saw it, but he smiled as Mari set it down on the table between them. Gold lines crisscrossed the teapot, cutting through the original design and showing just where the pot had shattered. And yet, he thought, looking at it, the lines added something to the piece that made it better.

“It’s called _kintsugi_ ,” Mari explained, seeing Sonia’s face as she stared at the teapot. “You mix gold or silver with the lacquer and use that to put the pieces back together. It makes it so that the cracks are part of the piece, but that the piece ends up more beautiful than it was before.”

Viktor, who had been walking closer to the table to see the teapot, smiled, dropping to his knees next to where Sonia was sitting and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She squeaked at the sudden touch, going tense, but relaxed quickly when she saw it was just him.

“I think it’s perfect,” he said. “What do you think, Sonechka?”

Sonia looked down at the teapot, and Yuuri saw tears start to form, blurring her eyes. She nodded, looking away.

“I think it’s perfect too…” she said.

* * *

 

They met Minako the next morning, after breakfast. While Yurio took advantage of the open ballet studio to practice and get warmed up, Sonia shyly demonstrated everything she had been practicing so far. That earned them an invitation to come back to Hasetsu in the summers if they wanted, so that Sonia could continue to practice here, and it was an invitation that Viktor was half-convinced they were going to accept. He’d already seen how happy Yuuri was to be home, and he had surprised himself with how happy he was to be here too. He would have been happy to be with Yuuri in Russia or America or wherever it was that would have them, but Hasetsu had been special.

It was nice to see that the girls were seeing that too.

In the afternoon, they headed down to Ice Castle Hasetsu. Yuuko had closed the rink to the public so that Yurio could practice, and Axel, Lutz and Loop, nine years old now and already taller than they had been the last time Viktor had seen them, followed him around as closely as they could with cellphones and cameras. He could already hear them talking about how many views they would get on social media if they posted exclusive photos and videos of Yuri Plisetsky practicing. Yuuko paused in the middle of her conversation with Yuuri to tell them not to post anything without asking, but Viktor knew that the triplets probably weren’t going to listen to her anyway.

He smiled at Yuuri as he stepped out onto the ice, and waved at Clara, who was seated on Yuuri’s shoulders. He could feel the triplets’ attention as soon as he started gliding towards Yurio, could hear them nudging at each other as if debating whether or not they should start filming him too.

That changed when Sonia skated past them, heedless of the triplets, of their attention, of anyone at all. She found an empty patch of ice and started moving, dancing along to a song that only she could hear.

The triplets stopped, watching her with wide eyes as she turned, brown hair streaming along behind her. Videos, cellphones, and social media sites were forgotten for a moment.

Viktor smiled. Sonia’s movements were raw and unfinished, but she did have that kind of presence when she was performing, that quality that couldn’t be taught. He’d seen it in her from the very first day. She skated like she was trying to find something, to uncover a truth deep down inside herself. It was like her mind was on another plane, and her body couldn’t help but move along to whatever it was she found. It was a very personal kind of performance, because it looked like Sonia was unaware that she was performing at all.

_I’m doing this for myself,_ her movements seemed to say. _I don’t care if you watch me._

_But somehow, you can’t look away._

He pursed his lips in thought, watching her. A waltz, probably. Something traditional, a little melancholy. He could already see it, could practically hear the music.

He skated towards her, leaving Yurio to himself for a bit, and took her by the hand. Sonia blinked in surprise, coming back to earth from wherever she had been, but when she realized where she was, she allowed him to guide her, the two of them moving and turning together.

He picked her up by the waist and she went with ease, resting her hands on his shoulders. His back gave a small twinge at the movement. She was only eight years old, but already she was just on the edge of too big to pick up casually.

He realized that even though he had only known her and Clara for a year, he wasn’t ready for either of them to grow up.

“Do you think you can do a jump?” he asked, meeting her eyes as their momentum carried them through another slow rotation. He gave her an encouraging smile. “Just a single?”

Sonia looked nervous, but he could see her thinking as she considered the request. “Um…I think I can,” she said. “Just a small one.”

“Alright, Sonechka.” Viktor carefully set her down. “Fly for me.”

Sonia took a deep breath, facing an open expanse of ice. He saw the moment she settled her nerves, the moment that tension and fear gave way to determination and calm. He watched as she started building up speed, blades cutting furrows into the ice.

She leaped into the air—

* * *

 

—and came down to the sound of music, to applause and flashing lights as her blades cut a path across the ice.

_**[(Suggested Song)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E9JPqJDRNQg) ** _

The music of her free program played, the sound filling the air as the fabric of her costume swirled around her. Somewhere in the distance, the commentators were speaking, but Sonia could barely hear them. They were background chatter—she was focusing on the music.

_“—another clean jump from Sonia. We don’t normally see that one at the novice level, do we?”_

_“No, we don’t, but remember folks, this is Sonia’s last year of skating at this level. Next year, she’ll be representing the United States on the international stage at the junior level.”_

—a turn, a spin. In the back of her mind, she was somewhere else, moving through a darkened ballroom. It was cold, the cold of winter. She could taste the dust in the air, could feel the chill—

_“That’s right, Mark, and Sonia is definitely showing that she’s ready to take on the challenge. When asked about her performance today, her coach and father, Viktor Nikiforov, only had this to say: ‘Sonia will be one to watch.’ I’d say that’s accurate, wouldn’t you?”_

—the music picked up and lights flared across the ballroom, dancers filling the rink around her. She moved along with them, one of them. Her movements grew faster as she joined the dancers—

_“She certainly is a remarkable young lady. And Viktor Nikiforov knows how to pick them. With all of the success coming out of his rink in the past few years, I wouldn’t be surprised to see Sonia excel at the international level next year.”_

—the commentators were saying something, but she wasn’t listening, wasn’t hearing them at all. It was almost over, it was the end of the dance, the illusion was breaking—

_“But let’s talk about today, Mark. What would you say? Another gold medal?”_

_“Absolutely. But Sonia clearly isn’t skating with a gold medal in mind—it looks like she has her eyes on something bigger and better.”_

_“Well, there you have it, folks. America’s rising star at the US Nationals—twelve-year-old Sonia Katsuki-Nikiforova! We’re looking forward to seeing where her career takes her.”_

—The song came to a stop at the same time as Sonia did, one last note stretching out into infinity. She came back to earth in her final pose, breathing hard and feeling the warmth of the lights against her face. Sonia tilted her head up into the warmth, her heart pounding, hearing the sound of applause.

_**[See you NEXT LEVEL!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJbCyeWctgE) ** _

* * *

 

**Sonia Katsuki-Nikiforova** @soniakatnik

Um…I’m still not sure how to use this. Thank you to everyone for supporting me at #USNationals. I’m looking forward to next season.  

_Viktor Nikiforov, KlarikTheEpik, Yuri Katsuki and Yuri Plisetsky Retweeted._

**Viktor Nikiforov** @vnikiforov √

@soniakatnik My Sonechka <3

**KlarikTheEpik** @clarakatnip

@soniakatnik YAY YOU’RE ON TWITTER! CONGRATS ON WINNING NATIONALS! Next year we’ll be at the #JGPFinal, right? ;P #takeyoursistertoSpainmmkay? #Vamos! <3

**Sonia Katsuki-Nikiforova** @soniakatnik

@clarakatnip Um…I’ll do my best?

**Yuri Plisetsky** @yuriplisetsky √

@soniakatnik Good luck, kid.


End file.
